Snook - 8+ Hours of Disturbing Confession Threads

Episode Date: April 19, 2026

This is 8+ hours of some Disturbing Confession Threads! This is a megacompilation of some of the most wild, disturbing and scary reddit threads I have ever read... I hope you enjoy! And let me know if you would like to see more videos like this in the future! Thank you all for listening! Make sure you rate the podcast 5 stars and follow! Thank you all so much for listening! Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! ⁠⁠https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠⁠ Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram! Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I was once involved with a group of people that murdered an old man. I originally posted this in R-slash true crime, but some suggested that I repost here. For my own safety, I'll be keeping some of the details of this story a little vague, but it's mostly the truth, with a few guesses where my memory fails me, as this was about 20 or so years ago. Some background. I was homeless on and off between 13 to 16 years old, right around the tail end of the 90s.

It had little to no contact with my family. I was a moderately frequent drug user, but at the time of this story, I was mostly into weed and mushrooms. With this story containing my first experience with Crystal and Tweakers, in short, I was a typical 90s teenage dirtbag with little to no moral compass. I've lived most of my life in major metropolitan areas.

However, my wandering down. at this time had led me to a somewhat rural town about two hours south of Canada, somewhere around the Pacific Northwest. Through adventures in drug use, I had made a few new friends. Let's call them Jeremy, my closest friend in this group, Karen, my girlfriend, and Tony, a fellow teenage dirtbag. We spent our days figuring out ways to get our hands on some weed, for the most part, which included everything from panhandling to burglary. A couple of times, a week we'd go out and see Jeremy's girlfriend, who was under house arrest.

While out there, we'd often roam the neighborhoods, looking for unlocked cars to rob, shoplift from the local shops, and get drunk on cheap, disgusting wine. Looking at you, Carlo Rosie. One day, after an afternoon of minor crimes and drugs, we met up with someone I hadn't yet encountered, but who was known to my local group.

Let's call him Garrett. Garrett was the only one of us over 18, which at the time provided a certain amount of cool factor and helped us spend our ill-gotten funds on a small amount of crystal. We were all crashing at Karen's house while her parents were out of town, and we all got high. This being my first time. After we were all lit, the bag was empty,

and Garrett started talking about scoring some more. However, we are all broke. Garrett had a brilliant plan for getting a large chunk of money. Quickly. It seems Garrett had a childhood friend whose grandfather lived in the area and kept a lot of cash on hand as he didn't trust banks. Garrett's plan was to put on a mask, grab some knives, and scare the old man into giving us his money.

The others were very interested as they wanted to get high. However, I was fairly adamantly against it. I won't pretend I had some sort of a moral objection, but strong armed robbery was a bit above everything I'd gotten involved with, and quite frankly, I was scared. Additionally, we had encased the place at all, so we had no information about as neighbors, when people left slash returned home, if and when people were likely to visit, etc. Furthermore, the entire plan was concocted in about 15 minutes, so it wasn't exactly an Ocean's 11 setup. Jeremy was going to be the driver, and Garrett and Tony would go in and do the actual robbery.

Karen and I were supposed to be the lookouts. However, for all of the above reasons, I refused to have anything to do with it, and told Karen she shouldn't either, which surprisingly she listened to. I tried to talk to them into waiting until we could get more info about the guy and the neighbors, but Garrett was dead set on doing it ASAP. I've since in first he was a serious addict and needed something right now, which explains why he was so gung-ho about the whole thing. My concerns were brushed aside and they started getting ready. Two T-shirts with slobily cut eye holes would be the masks

and two butcher knives from the block in Karen's kitchen would be the weapons. Jeremy would wait outside with the engine running. They'd go in and scare the guy, get the money, and run back out. A plastic grocery bag was used to collect the counter. So, ridiculously, equipped, Jeremy, Tony, and Garrett, headed out the door, and Karen and I settled down to wait. This was just about sundown, and we expected the whole thing for good or ill would be over fairly quickly. And Karen assured me we'd be doing drugs in no time. We fooled around for a little bit since we were alone, but being thwacked the moon, I was more

interested in talking than having intimacy. And in retrospect, can tell that I was annoying the absolute shit out of her with my verbal diarrhea. Fifteen minutes turned into 30, and then an hour with no sign of the guys. The sun went completely down, and it was full night. By this point, we were super agitated and kept checking the blinds in classic tweak or form. Anytime we heard anything at all, we turned on some music and were laying on the couch when the door flew open. There in the doorway stood Jeremy, eyes wide and frantic, who burst out, he killed him, he fucking killed him. Behind him walked Tony. In a daze and behind him was Garrett covered in blood. I don't think I'll quite ever forget the look on Garrett's face.

Haunted doesn't do it justice. It was the expression of someone who knows he is damned. He walked slowly into the house and went directly into the bathroom and closed the door. We heard the faucet running as he watched the blood off of his hands and face, and we all stood silent, staring at each other. After I recovered from my initial shock, I asked what the actual fuck had happened. evidently, things had unfolded pretty much as intended for the first half of the capper. The old man was appropriately terrified and handed over the money after being roughed up a little.

Once the bag was filled and they were almost out of the door, the poor bastard said, It's you, Garrett, isn't it? Evidently, recognizing Garrett's voice as one of his grandson's friends. Well, Garrett panicked and turned around and stabbed him directly. in the chest 19 times. After the first 14, his knife hand bent,

so he took Tony's knife and stabbed him five more times, with his hand over the old man's mouth to try to stop his screaming. Finally, he slowed, stood up and grabbed the bag of money.

They both fled for the door. Unfortunately, one of the old man's neighbors had evidently come home right around this time. I was never able to get the straight of exactly when he arrived and saw two masked men running out of the house. He shouted at them to stop, then proceeded to jump back into his car and follow them. Jeremy drove like a maniac to lose them and then drove at random while they tried to figure out what they held to do next. They finally decided to drive back to where we were and ditch the car several blocks away, trusting to the cover. The cover of the cover

of night to hide deep blood all over Garrett. As they told the story, Garrett finished washing himself off and opened the bag of money. If I recall correctly, it was something around five or six grand. They started to split up the money, even offering me some, which I declined. Horrified that things had turned out this way, if I was able to, I would have run screaming from the place. However, now I was party to a murder, and I didn't think they'd be too excited about someone who knew the details running off to who knows where. I refused the offered cash and tried to calm my thwacked out mine down, envisioning cops busing through the door at any moment. The largest amount of money they put into a hollowed out deodorant container, which then

they buried in the backyard. Each kept several hundred dollars, and Jeremy agreed to take Tony and Garrett where they wanted to go, and would score some crystal to come back. and take with Karen and I. The three left, and Karen and I settled back into waiting anxiously. Eventually, Jeremy returned with a big sack of crystal, which he proceeded to get blasted on,

and spent the entire night playing cards and checking the windows. It was, without question, the scariest fucking night I'd ever had up to that point. We discussed whether or not the neighbor got the license plate number, if the cops would find the car,

once again abandoned several blocks away, and even if Garrett would think about killing all of us to cover his tracks. In the morning, we decided to split up. In reality, they were super annoyed by the edgy, thwacked version to me, and I just wanted to get the fuck away from them. I went to the flop house I was staying at a bizarre little cult-like family set up that probably deserves its own story and crashed out for a day. When I woke up, I headed to my local panhandling spot to get the money

for some potato wedges. Twelve for a dollar. What a deal. And while I was there, checked a newspaper to see if there was anything there. Sure enough, the murder was front page material. Given the semi-rural nature of the town,

chilled to the core, I walked dazily around town until late that night before returning to my flop house. The patriarch of my little household was a worldly, mostly well-meaning gentlemen we'll call Clive. Clive knew me pretty well by this point and was a charismatic individual. He pulled me aside and asked what was wrong late that night,

informed me that the cops had come by that day asking about me and asked if there was anything I'd like to tell him. I spilled everything. Clive listened in silence as I told him what had happened. And at the end of it, shared something with me that none of us had known. As a younger man, he'd spent seven years in prison for armed robbery. He knew what it was like to be in serious capital T trouble and asked only one thing of me. Don't commit S word in his house, as there were young kids living there. Again, it was a really, really strange place. I assured him I wouldn't, and we drank off. and played cards until the sun came up.

At about nine in the morning, the cops showed up again, and this time I went with them. As it happened, I wasn't the last person to be rounded up. Garrett was still at large, being a good criminal, and I clammed up and said nothing. Besides asking them what I was being questioned about, they informed me that I was wanted for question in regards to a murder, and I spent the car ride and waiting room time struggling,

to control my sphincter. When I was escorted into the interview area, which was just a regular office, not a scary movie interview room, I was asked if there was anything I wanted to tell them. I, of course, said I had no idea why I was there, but I was shaking and sweating, and I knew they could see it. They decided to offer some information. An old man had been murdered, and they had multiple people in custody, all of whom seemed to think that the plan was my idea. I was so stunned by this. I made what was probably a rather comical what face and started shaking a bit more. The interviewer outlined the basic facts that they knew, which were all pretty much on the money except for the fact that I had been pointed out as the

mastermind of the operation. They even provided me with a statement from Karen, which indicated the whole plan had been mine, and that they hadn't wanted to do it, but I had threatened them into compliance, which was pretty ludicrous, as I was the youngest person in the group in a scrawny little white boy. He left me with the statement in a cup of coffee while he went to the bathroom. By this point, I was freaking right the fuck out. What the actual fuck? Why had my so-called friends all pointed the finger at me? I slowly began to be to realize that they had all known each other for much longer than I'd known any of them. And that much of our interactions had involved me bringing weed or cash to share.

Was I a sucker? Was this me being used? A chump? It being left out to dry? When the interviewer came back in, he sat down in his desk, looked at me, and just said, tell me. I paused. Then Shakely asked for a son.

soda and a cigarette, and was provided both, which was a bit interesting as I was only 15. I told them that I wasn't prepared to make a statement, but could offer a hypothetical explanation of events, which she said would be acceptable for now. I huddled by the window and, as much as it pains me to admit it, rolled over like a good boy. I told them everything relating to the vent itself. The participants, the plan, where it went wrong, and what happened? The interviewer sat in silence and let me ramble it all out while I blew my smoke out the window. He asked why I didn't try harder to stop them or go to the police after the event. And I told him I was, quite simply, afraid of people that had killed a guy. Fortunately for me, they seemed to think my story lined up

with what they knew so far, and decided that they didn't have enough evidence to charge me at the time. I was told not to leave town, and that it would be wise for me to retain legal advice. I returned home and spent the night smoking a bunch of weed, and went to sleep, trying not to think about it. That night, Garrett was tracked down and arrested at gunpoint, brought back to the station, and interrogated. He copped the murder and told them everything that had happened. happened. Much to my everlasting surprise, he backed my claim that I had been against the entire plan from the beginning, refused to take any money, and generally seemed to want nothing to do with this situation. From what I understand, he referred to me as just a kid who was in the wrong place

at the wrong time. The next day, I was called back in, sat down, and told about Garrett's confession. This person, who I'd only met that day, confirmed everything that I had told them. and went out of his way to explain that I was not a willing participant. I've always gotten the sense that he was truly remorseful for what he had done and didn't want to see anyone else suffer for it. They told me I was free to go for the moment, but that they might have additional questions for me in the future. Later that day, I saw a story in the local paper

indicating that the culprit had been apprehended and naming him. The article also mentioned that three minors were in custody, and an unnamed mail miner was questioned regarding the incident. Me. A couple of weeks later, I caught a greyhound out of town, leaving the state and returning to my hometown in another state. I later learned that they police did come back around looking for me, but I was long gone. I was still off the grid for another year or two, and I've never been contacted about the

incident since then. I've also never returned to that state. I hope you guys enjoyed my rambling story. It's mostly true as far as I can remember it, other than places where I had to fill in a couple of gaps in my memory and a couple of times that were nudged to blur the trail a bit, in case anyone feels like being a super sleuth and trying to identify when and where this happened. I later became a productive member of society,

and am a husband and father with a great career that I've worked hard for. I've always wanted to share the story outside my closest circle of friends and I feel a little better after doing so. I have quite a few wild stories from my youth as a vagabond, and perhaps I'll post some of those later if anyone finds these interesting. Thanks for reading. And now let's get into some of the top comments.

Someone says, what happened did that blow Garrett? And the O.P replied saying, 25 to life. The others variously did time in juvenile facilities or mental hospitals. And then someone replies saying, he's still in? And then someone else replies saying this was 20 years ago, so I would say yes. And then the O.P responded saying, well, he could have been paroled by now. I haven't gone out of my way to follow up, as I generally would prefer to avoid any further

interaction with that whole fucked up situation. And then someone else has another comment that says that's a pretty shit situation to be in, being framed for a murder by people you thought you were your friends as a teen. I can't imagine. how that would have been. Good on you for turning your life around. And then someone responds saying, that was quite possibly just a police tactic to get him to talk. Most suspects don't talk if they think that everyone else involved isn't talking, like looking out for each other. But if the suspect believes everyone is blaming it on him, then he is likely to break that loyalty and make a statement. And the OP responds saying, this is certainly a possibility. The confession that was,

provided to me had enough details that made me think was authentic. However, I suppose I could have been tricked. And then the commenter response to the O.P. saying, not sure if the police are allowed to lie to the extent of faking a confession. Although for a case as serious as murder, perhaps they would, especially if they knew you were involved for sure. Also, interrogation techniques have improved a lot in recent years. Police used to run riots saying and doing whatever they wanted to obtain a confession. And then someone replies saying, Don't be so naive. The police are absolutely allowed to lie to you. That's why you shouldn't talk to them without a lawyer, especially if you were involved. O.P. got lucky these cops actually

wanted to know the truth. And then another commenter asked a question saying, what happened to your girl? And the OPE responded saying, ah, this is actually a fun bit. I later found out that she told everyone I was delusional and that we had never been dating, I guess it wasn't really a match made in heaven. She ended up in a mental institution, which was probably a good place for her to be. I am evidently attracted to unstable women, except Wifi, who is only somewhat quirky. I pimped out high school girls for two years. One of them was my sister. Ask me anything. Of all the bad things I did back in my drug using, partying days, this has to be the worst. When I was in my early 20s, I dated a high school freshman, and whether it was just because of my

influence, or whether there were other factors in play, I'll never know. But she was a really screwed up girl. I didn't care. Back then, all I cared about was booger sugar. pills, partying, and effing. Mary was into all of that, but there was a problem. We didn't have much money. She was just a kid, and I barely made $250 a week at my shitty landscaping job.

One day, I had her with me while picking up some pills, and the dealer, stoned as fuck, told me he'd give us two extra pills if she slept with him. It took some convincing, but Mary eventually agreed, and that was the first time I pimped a girl out. She wasn't the only one or the one I most regret. Like I said, Mary was a screwed up girl before I met her. I'm not saying I didn't make things worse for her, but I'm positive what ended up happening to her wasn't entirely my fault. The ones I regret most aren't even the friends. she helped me recruits from her school after Mary became a proper escort.

Most of them were also sort of crazy already, or else Mary wouldn't have been able to convince them to work for me. The one I regret most is my sister. She was 15 the first time she asked me for drugs. Just weed, which I had plenty of, but I convinced her it cost 10 times. what it did. Keep in mind, I was on something practically all the time at this point and had grown used to seeing young woman as a means to make cash. I was absolutely without remorse or guilt. So she paid with saved up allowance money, something like $100 for two joints. Eventually,

I brought her to her first rave and even paid for everything, including the pill. While she was rolling hard, I told a friend of mine to massage her, and when she began to complain that he was touching her too much, I told her to stop being a baby and just enjoy it. I watched my sister lose her virginity that night to a guy I barely remember anymore. He paid me $100 later for that. It wasn't long before she became my constant companion at party. raves, and even clubs. Our parents were trying to control her by grounding her, but I convinced her to sneak out all the time. She and my two main girls, including Mary, would go out and get high, and then I'd hook

them up with someone. I would take the majority of the money, and they never complained because they were scared of me for a couple of reasons. They were scared I might hurt them because, yes, I barely remember doing so, but while booger-suggered out, I was known for getting violent. They were also scared whenever I threatened to leave them or cut them off. They saw me do that to a few of their friends, and they didn't want that to happen. This went on for two years.

It ended after my sister was arrested for possession and solicitation. I'd had the bright idea that my girls should be getting their own Johns, so I started bringing them to clubs where I knew the bouncers and send them in to find customers for their services. It worked well for a few short weeks until my sister got caught up in a police raid. They arrested dozens of people that night, my sister included, but she was by far the youngest. After that, only Mary remained of my girls.

The rest were scared now, and my sister was in a drug treatment center. I tried getting some of them back, even some of the ones I'd gotten rid of before, but I was circling the drain, and they seemed to know it. Suddenly, I wasn't the cool older guy, I was the loser-druggy guy. What finally got me to change was, the day I brought Mary over to one of my dealer's friend's place. This friend was supposedly really into young redheads and would pay $300 for some fun with her. My dealer vouched for him, but I brought Mary there myself anyway because I wanted the money. I was back to being broke

and I needed cash desperately, so I brought her to this sketchy neighborhood and walked her to the door. Funny thing is, Crazy Mary was for once nervous and suggested we forget about this dude. I insisted, though, and by now she always listened to me. When we entered the room, I knew something was off. There were three guys there, and they had flashlights. They said something about the power being off, and I stupidly believed them enough to let them lead me into the main room. Mary was freaking out by this point, probably because she realized what I hadn't. This house wasn't theirs.

Hell, it was an abandoned house. No furniture, total mess, all fucked up. Before all that registered to me, I was attacked. They beat the shit out of me. I barely remember any of it. I do remember being strapped into a gurney, and hearing a paramedic say that my lung was punctured. Turns out he was wrong, but I was in enough pain to believe it.

I spent the next few days in the hospital being treated for a variety of things, including a concussion that required them drilling a hole in my skull, broken ribs, a broken hand that never healed correctly, and of course, H. withdrawal. When the police spoke with me, I refused to answer any questions until they asked me if I knew that my friend Mary had been assaulted as well. I remember feeling, and I still feel, the shame of realizing I had never even considered what happened to her. Turns out she had been violently R-worded while I was unconscious. They beat the

hell out of her too. I think that's the first time I honestly felt guilt about what I've been doing for nearly two years. Not even my sister getting arrested had been enough to make me realize what an asshole I was, but being shown the pictures of Mary's face, all swollen and bruised, made me cry like a girl. I told the police everything about my dealer friend and how he'd set up a date with Mary that night, but nothing ever came of it. The dealer kept his mouth shut, and even though they raided his home, they only found a little bit. pot. No money, guns, or drugs. He got a slap on the wrist. Yeah, I cleaned up after that. I've been drug-free for five years now. But Mary, last I heard, is still a heavy user. My sister got clean and is now

in college, but she's had a string of abusive boyfriends, and I know that's probably my fault. I was her big brother, and I taught her that men only want her for intimacy, and she's had a hard time on learning that lesson. The other girls, I barely even remember, and am too much of a coward to try and track down. And even though it was a Ask Me Anything, the O.P. didn't really answer a lot of questions, and the questions he did answer have since been deleted. I mean, this was posted 13 years ago, so a lot of the accounts that commented have been banned or deleted or whatever.

So let's just get into some of the top comments. Someone says, that is a confession. That is a story. And then someone replies saying, doesn't sound like bullshit to me. I've known plenty of people to live this kind of life and I've been pretty close to those situations myself, not tricking for drugs and money, but around while it was happening. The people who are calling it fake have obviously never been in these situations, being heavily addicted to drugs,

hanging out with dealers who selling mass amounts of drugs or knowing girls who were so desperate for a fix that having intimacy with someone for drugs slash money wasn't even a question. Believe it or not, this stuff doesn't only happen in the movies. Someone else says that's a effed up story. I'm glad you got a wake-up call and also decided to unburden yourself. Damn. Have you ever apologized to your sister or Mary about what you did to them? I feel like that would bring a lot of healing two. Peace. And the O.P. replies saying, yes, I apologize to my sister once, but only because she apologized to me first. We don't discuss that time in our lives anymore. As for Mary, no. I only saw her once after being in the hospital, and that was when she came to me asking for a

hookup. I told her I was clean now, and she should be too, and she agreed, but, While I stayed clean, she hasn't. Someone else says, track them down, do something. And the O.P replies saying, Call it a cop out, but I honestly don't know where to begin finding them. I don't even remember their full names. Mary might know, but last I heard, she had moved away, and the person who told me that said she was still really fucked up.

And then an O.P. asks, What made you decide to do and ask me anything? And the OPE replies saying, I just have a hard time sleeping, even with medication. I get these awful nightmares that wake me up in the middle of the night, and I feel like total shit. I feel like a fake when I go to my meetings. I try my best to get over my past, but I can't stop thinking about it. My sponsor suggested that I'd be more open about everything I did back when I was using, so I'd I decided to try and ask me anything to see if it would help. And then someone replies saying, You will never get over your past because you are a truly rotten person. That doesn't change. Your only positive contribution to the world will be when you leave it. I just shot my dog.

My wife found a stray last week that loved our young daughter more than anything. This dog had followed her around from outside the daycare, fence playing with her through the fence for three days before my wife decided to see if she could catch him. After much coaxing, he got her into the car and she brought him home. He was a little black and white rat terrier looking mutt. And in true kiddo fashion, our daughter decided to that a black and white dog's name is going to be Marshall because Paw Patrol. Well, Marshall and kiddo are fast friends, chasing each other around, playing nonstop. It was beautiful. Marshall wasn't without fault, though. He was so attached to her that several times he tried to defend our

daughter from the other dogs we have, so he didn't quite trust them yet. We even consider getting rid of him after the first day when he jumped our 122-pound shepherd mix for trying to get pets from our daughter. That was truly scary, as she was right in the mix and I yanked her up into the air from between them as they briefly fought it out. Luckily, she was not hurt, but it really had us worried. We decided to stick it out and give Marshall a chance because of how strong he'd bonded with daughter and just how pure their love was. We brought him home a week ago, and he'd made great strides, not fighting with the other dogs besides the occasional growl, and he'd started herding our goats around, really living his best life, and we felt like we could keep working

with him and get him to be a part of the family. Tonight, I let him out for a bathroom break, as I looked for an additional in-ground fence collar that the shepherd mix has to keep on him from going out under the gate, but still lets him roam around the whole property without wandering into the neighbor's land and getting into their cows. He was seriously injured doing that, when young and I know in-ground collars aren't well received, but it was better than him almost dying again, and it works great. I'd found the extra collar, got a new battery into it, and was headed outside to test it, before putting it on Marshall to make sure he would stick to our property, and I saw him, lying in the tree line at the edge of the front yard by the gate.

Not moving. I went over to him and saw he had a swollen belly, a severely injured leg that was broken in several places, was not getting up and I could tell he'd been hit by a car. I'm a first responder, and I knew that the way his leg was bent up and the swelling at his hips meant his pelvis was broken, and the swollen belly was from internal bleeding. And there was zero chance he would survive.

I carried him inside, and as I did, I knew he was on borrowed time, as I could feel how his broken hips really were even though I was carrying him as gently as I could. He didn't even whine. He was so far gone already. I brought him to his bed. laid him down as comfortably as I could and told the family.

We got our daughter and told her that Marshall had a really bad boo-boo that we couldn't fix. She understands what death is a bit more than most three years old because of farm life, but it's still very limited. And we told her he was not going to make it. She asked if he was going to die, and we told her that Marshall was going to die. We're religious, so we told her that I had to take a little bit of, him out into the woods so he could be with Jesus, and Jesus would take him away so he wouldn't hurt anymore. She asked a bunch of questions that we answered as best as we could. She hugged and kissed

Marshall. She said goodbye to him, and then told me she'd be okay. Many tears were shed. So I bundled Marshall up in a towel and brought him to a quiet area in the woods. I laid him down, thanked him for loving my daughter so much and bringing her so much joy this past week and I apologized to him I told him I was sorry that he got hurt that I was sorry that our attempts to make his life better ended the way it had

and I apologize for how much the walk out here must have hurt his pupils were huge from the shock his gums were gray and his whole face had gone cold and his breaths were shallow. As I stepped back, thanked him again, apologized, told him I loved him,

and shot him. The pain was gone, and I know I did the right thing for him, especially since the closest emergency vet is an hour or so away, so he would die painfully long before he could be properly euthanized. But it still doesn't feel good.

daughter told us that she would dream about Marshall tonight so he could feel better in her dreams after story time before bed and that broke us both again. So she consoled us and told us it would be okay because Jesus would always take good care of Marshall now and that he doesn't live at our house anymore. So we just cuddled up, quietly crying with her until she went to sleep. This is a huge wall of text, but I got to get it at it. out there because it sucks and I need it off my chest. It was less than one week. Tuesday to Sunday, but dang. He was a part of the family already and was easily our daughter's best friend for that week.

We gave Marshall a house, we cleaned his dirty fur, gave him a bed, food, water, and a best friend for one week of his lonely life living on the streets. And I keep telling myself that even though it ended abruptly. That one week was worth it for him. And it should be worth it for me too. Viewer confession. Hello, Snook. Before I start, I'd like to thank you. Your video is carrying me through work a lot, but carrying on, here is my confession. Sorry if it's long or my grammar is bad. I abused my classmates' dog. When I was a preteen, I used to pick on a kid. For this story, I won't be using his real name, but I'll use some. something he goes by so that on the off chance he somehow sees this, he can hear it and hopefully

get closure from my actions. So, Dedact, if you're seeing this, I truly am sorry. Didact was very introverted, as he didn't speak much because he was self-conscious about his lisp. At the time, I didn't know much about him. I just thought it was funny because he sounded different. I tormented him for so long as the new kid at school solely so I could fit in with the wrong people. Until one day, he finally spoke to me. This was the first time I had ever heard him speak to me directly. He spoke calmly and only said one thing. Why are you like this? Then he began to turn his back to me. At the time, it caused an explosion within me. I won't use it as an excuse, but my late mother would always say that to me whenever I acted out, and it made me angry.

I tried to sucker punch him while he wasn't facing me. I don't know how he pulled it off, but he ducked without even looking and did some kind of karate-looking kick that I didn't even have time to register before it knocked me out. I was suspended. It didn't take long for me to become the main joke for that semester, because not only did I bully a kid, but the kid I bullied knocked me out in less than 10 seconds. I couldn't take it, so I started trying to find some way to hurt him. I knew I clearly could have beat him. I found out he fought a lot, mainly because of people like me,

so he was naturally quite good at it. So I went for the thing he cherished the most. His dog. Daisy. She was everywhere you saw him outside of school. She was on the wallpaper of every device he owned, and if he was outside, that dog was always with him.

I knew how much he loved her. Skipping some details, I found her. She was near my backyard at the time. I have no idea why, but I assumed she ran off. I took my grandfather's cane and beat her. I heard her so badly that I thought I had killed her. I went back inside without even bothering to clean up what I had done. And for some sick reason, I felt fulfilled and happy.

I still can't escape the hate I feel for myself for taking joy in hurting a living creature. But she's survived. She's still alive to this day. Even so, Dadax was devastated. It hurt him so much that he did something unthinkable to someone else. And it's all my fault. My grandfather at the time was known to dislike that dog because she would constantly sneak into his yard. So, if you can guess where this is going, everybody in that neighborhood thought my

my grandfather did it. It didn't help that the first sight to Dact was greeted with when he knocked on the door was my grandfather's discarded bloody cane lying on the porch. He lost it. He beat my grandfather so badly, it nearly paralyzed him. My grandpa was a good person. He was a veteran, and despite him not liking Daisy, I knew he loved animals almost as much as Dach himself. He would never have hurt a dog. But because of me, his name is still ruined, even after death because people think he was some cruel old man who beat a little kid's pet nearly to death and faced the consequences. And it's all my fault. I know the destruction I caused won't go away with this confession, but if you're seeing this did act, you surely know who I am. You're smart enough to figure

it out. I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart. I regret my actions and I hope you grow into an even better person than you already are. I hope your career in animal rescue succeeds and I wish Daisy a long and healthy life. I doubt this will be on time, but happy late birthday to your K9 best friend. And thank you, Snook. In advance, if you go over this story, I'm not the person I once was and I hope you and everybody else can forgive me for my cruel actions. I'm now a doctor and every day I my good deeds will outweigh the bad. The reason I didn't confess this earlier is because at the time I was afraid of him, but now that we're both adults, I respect him and everybody else who can see the true value of life. There is no innate hierarchy of value. We are all living beings who just

want to live our lives. Harming one, no matter what creature it is, is an unforgivable act. I just hope others can learn from the lesson I have. And I just have one. And I just have one. one quick thing to say to you and some feedback to this horrifying confession. Please, that apology you just wrote to me or that apology you just wrote out, please send that to deduct. You have it written out. You feel sorry. Why are you banking on him seeing this video?

Why are you waiting for him to see my video or see this video? And instead of just reaching out to him personally. please and even if you guys have each other blocked on social media or whatever reach out to his girlfriend or wife or mom or dad or brother or sister or friend or whatever please reach out to him personally and forgive him i mean what you did to him was was horrible there's no downplaying that you beat his dog nearly to death because he loved his dog and you bullied him for things he couldn't control. So please, the one thing I have to say is please reach out to the act. I mean, I'm sure he's still thinking about this years later, you know, such a horrible situation and a horrible thing you

did, no doubt about it. But please just reach out to him and personally apologize. And he doesn't have to forgive you. He doesn't have to forgive you at all. But I think he deserves an apology for what you did for him. And so please, like I said, don't, bank on him seeing this video. I mean, I don't, the chances of that are very, very low. I have to bet. And so please just reach out to him personally and say I'm sorry and tell him exactly what you told me, all of the things you said. And, you know, hopefully he can forgive you. And if he doesn't, oh well, but at least you apologize to him. Snook, please keep me anonymous. Forgive me for the long confession. I don't ask for

forgiveness. I'm not justifying my actions. I don't wish for sympathy. I understand if you do not believe my confession and I don't blame you. I wouldn't believe it either if it didn't happen to me. I'm 32 years old. English isn't my first language, but I've lived with it long enough that it doesn't get in the way anymore. I'm writing this for memory and memory is messy. Some things are clear. Some things come out in pieces. I'm not asking to be understood. I just need this out of my head. This happened in 2010, in a small town outside the city of Durango, not rural enough to disappear completely,

not big enough to matter, the kind of place where everyone knows who you are, but nobody knows what you're really doing. My mother raised me and my little sister alone. She was four years old at the time. I was barely a teenager, old enough to understand money, young enough to believe hard work fixed everything.

My father wasn't around, and I don't know when he left or why. My mother didn't talk about him. She worked as a maid for families who lived better than we did, cleaning houses that were quiet, organized, and nothing like ours. She would take me with her sometimes, leaving my sister with our neighbor. Eventually, it became my first job. I helped carry things.

Clean patios, washed cars, did whatever I was told. I didn't complain. I didn't ask questions. I learned early that silence kept you fed. One of the clients noticed that. He liked that I didn't talk. He said it more than once. He'd laugh and say I had the right mentality,

that I understood how the world worked. I didn't know then what he really did for a living. I knew enough to know I shouldn't ask. After a while, he offered me another kind of work. He didn't call it anything dangerous. He just said he needed someone to watch, to stand around, observe and tell him if anyone unfamiliar came into the end.

area. Rival groups. He didn't use words like cartel at first. He offered to pay me more than my mother earned in a week. And I said yes. That was my first step into it. I didn't feel like I chose it. It felt like something that was already happening.

And I just didn't step out of the way. I became what they call a halcon. I stood on corners, near stores, beside mine streets. I watched cars, faces, movements. I memorized things without writing them down. I would report back to him every night. Months passed and nothing ever changed, but I still got paid. My mom knew, but not enough to point out.

My sister still laughed and my mom still came back tired and smelling like cleaning chemicals. Then the same man offered me more work, deliveries, drop a bag off and bring back a stack of cash. No talking, no delays. I wasn't stupid. I knew what was in the back. but I have come to learn that knowing and asking are different things. Asking gets you killed.

Doing gets you paid. The money helped. We ate better. My sister had shoes that fit. My mother stopped crying tonight, at least where I could hear it. The man started showing up more. Not just at the house, but on the street near where I waited. I shrugged it off as a coincidence.

I realized now that I had already been recruited. I just hadn't been told. yet. The first few deliveries are simple. Walk a few blocks, catch a bus, leave the bag somewhere, return with the cash. The money was heavy in my hands. It smelled like sweat,

rubber bands and paper. I didn't feel powerful. I felt responsible. My mother's eyes when I handed her the money. They were grateful but tired. She never asked questions until one delivery went wrong. I was held at gunpoint and robbed to the bag.

I didn't feel. fight, I froze. I went back empty-handed. I expected to die that night. Instead, I was handed a gun. I had held guns before. Everyone had, but this was different. This one came with expectations and responsibility. I was told it wouldn't happen again, and I believed them. Life went on. I tried to forget it. I almost did. Then one day, with no warning, I was told I had a job to do the next day. not watching, not caring, killing. They needed someone who didn't stand out, someone young, somebody nobody would notice. For the first time, I said no.

The man who hired me got angry, not loud, but calm. I found that worse in a weird way. He told me if I didn't do it, I would disappear. Not arrested, not fired, gone. I didn't sleep that night. I kept thinking about my sister, about my mother coming home and not finding me. I told myself it was my life or a stranger's life,

and mine mattered more. That's the truth. I won't pretend otherwise. The next day I waited. I had never fired a gun before. I was shaking so badly I could hear it in my head. When the man came into view, I panicked. I pulled the trigger and missed.

The bullet went past his head. The sound alone sent him wrong. running. I stood there like an idiot, knowing what would happen next. I searched for him until my legs hurt and the sun started drooping. I didn't find him. I went home to find my sister alone. My mother wasn't there. At first, I told myself she was late. Then I told myself she'd stayed overnight. By the next day, I knew. The same man who hired me had killed her while she was cleaning his house. I wasn't there. I didn't see it. I only understood when she never came back. My sister kept asking for, crying, pulling out my shirt. I told her our mother went to the United

States for a better job. I said it without thinking. She believed me. That lie haunts me to this day. I used what money I had left to leave town. I bought a car that barely ran with rust everywhere. I told my sister, I found work somewhere else. I told myself I was saving her and I believed it. I left her in a daycare while I looked for someone to get us across the border. I found a coyote. Paid him. We were supposed to leave the next day.

When I came back, the daycare told me her father had picked her up. I didn't even understand the words at first. I demanded details. They didn't have any. A man, average height, busy day. too many kids, I never saw her again. I stayed three days. No sleep.

Asking strangers. Asking places I shouldn't have. Nothing. On the third night, I stopped trying. I tried to commit S word by hurting myself with a rope and a tree outside town. The rope snapped. I fell hard and laughed like a crazy person. Then I screamed at God until my throat was.

burned. I didn't want to die before that night. After that night, I didn't want to live, but I was desperate for an exit, for salvation. I worked small jobs, helping the elderly with demanding chores, fixing up lawns, helping street vendors sell goods, all while keeping my head down to not draw any past attention again. An old woman took pity on me. She said I worked hard. I lied to her, told her I was a runaway from an abusive household. Not the best thing to do, but survival doesn't leave room for honesty. She let me stay at her house. That same night I stole from her.

I'm not proud of that, but I won't lie about it. I paid another coyote. Crossed the Rio Bravo. Almost drowned. Made it across. Ran from canines. Hit from lights. Ended up in the back of a truck that took me deeper into Texas where I now live.

I got a job at a construction site. At 24, I got a car. a work permit. No green card. No family. I've tried to remain alive since then, but I don't know if that's the same thing as living. I don't expect forgiveness. I'm writing it because it's been 12 years and it still wakes me up some nights and I'm tired of being the only one who knows. That was my confession. And then the emailer leaves a PS saying, P.S. If you're young, in hearing this and are thinking of any part of this sounds powerful or exciting or like a shortcut out of poverty, listen to me carefully. There's nothing brave about this. There's nothing

loyal about it. Nobody protects you. Nobody remembers you. You are not a brother, not a soldier, not important. You are a tool. And tools get a place when they break. It doesn't start blood, that's a lie. It starts with watching the corner, carrying a bag, staying quiet. You tell yourself you're not hurting anyone. You tell yourself it's temporary. You tell yourself you're doing it for your family. Then one day you're standing there somewhere you never imagined, holding something you can't put down anymore. And every option in front of you is wrong. People talk about money like it fixes things. It doesn't. The money disappears.

The hunger comes back. The fear never leaves. What stays is the guilt, the faces you can't forget, in the nights where your chest feels heavy for no reason, and you can't explain to anyone else. You don't rise. You don't become anything. You decay slowly while pretending you're in control.

And when it's over, if you're lucky enough to survive, there is no redemption waiting for you. no apology that brings anyone back, no border you can cross that makes you feel clean again, you just carry it quietly, forever. If you still have a choice, take it.

Even if it feels small. Even if it feels humiliating. Even if it feels like you're going nowhere. Because nowhere is still better than this. And just, wow. This was truly one of the most intense confessions I have ever read in my entire career of reading confessions, period, on Reddit or viewer submitted. This just has a level of intensity I have never felt before reading a confession, if that makes sense. And I don't even know what to say. I truly

don't have any words for this. It just was so, so intense. I mean, that's just the word that keeps coming to mind. It felt intense and sorrowful. But yeah, I have no words. I mean, other than there is a good moral to take from this, if you are young or not even young, if you're in any position where you think the only way out is through dealing or doing some other sort of illegal activity, it's not good. It's better to just keep doing nothing than doing that because doing nothing is better than this, like the OP said at the end or the email or said at the end. Just, wow. I just don't have any words. This just took the words out of my mouth and I don't know what to say. But please everyone watching, comment down below what you

think about this because I just, I'm very interested to hear your thoughts on this. And thank you to the viewer who submitted this confession. I cheated on my husband and ruined his and his family's life. I can't believe what is happening around me. It feels like my world is falling apart. I know I may seem sociopathic because I am composed, but I think I'm in too much shock to be emotional. My husband struggled with depression in his teen years before I met him.

From the ages of 15 to 18, I was told by him that he S-H-daily and attempted S-word. He said he eventually had to leave his house because his father thought he was faking it and just needed exercise or go outside. When we met at 22, it was love at first sight. He was handsome, tall, amazingly charming, and made me feel amazing. He was super intelligent and driven as well, which made me infatuated with him. I feel sick typing this out.

When we are 24, I convinced him to mend his relationship with his father. He was at our wedding two years later and was a father figure to me as well. I don't know how to say the rest of the post. I've been calm up until now, but I'm shaking now. I cheated. My husband was working overtime to afford us a vacation. I was at a girl's night out. out. He was so handsome and masculine and confident. I guess with my alcohol, light drinker. I just

forgot about my husband. I went to his place and we did it. It was amazing, better than anything my husband ever did. I fell in love. I knew my husband was the love of my life, but this guy satisfied me like he never could. I feel fucking awful and sick and disgusted with myself, just typing this out. The next morning, my husband saw our text on my bedside table. He snooped my phone and found our plans to meet up again. Being honest, I probably wasn't going to meet up with them again, but I just loved the thought of it. My husband committed S-word three days later. A fucking extension cord in the garage. The court snapped at some point, but he was long gone. Next snapped. on the cold pavement.

A fucking pull-up bar and an extension cord took him away from me. It gets so much fucking worse. I told his father it was from his depression as a teen. Not that I had cheated on him.

He left a note describing in detail how cheating was his biggest fear. And he found his demons coming back to him and didn't want to live depressed anymore. He wrote, I love you. at the end, and that was it.

I told his dad it was all depression from his teens. His dad committed S-word that night. This sounds fake. This sounds like some fake eighth-grade story. I feel fucking ill. I feel empty. His dad didn't leave anything. He must have thought it was from him not being supportive.

I'm feeling S-word. I want to leave this world. I made the biggest mistake of my entire life, and this is how I pay for it? I am so scared of dying, but I feel I have to. I have the person I was with that night coming over soon, just to take care of me. He's going to make sure I don't commit S-word.

So don't bother trying to help me in the comments. I don't know how to say this, but I feel I don't deserve that hate that's about to come my way. I know I fucked up, but my husband and my father figure just died, and it's all my fault. Please cut me some slack. I just want someone to know it's my fault. Maybe one day I can forgive myself.

And the OP has never made an update since then, and that was downright one of the most disturbing, confessions I have ever read on Reddit. I may have committed a war crime. Firstly, I am now a normally functioning adult, studying engineering and doing normal stuff like partying slash drinking in weekends and keeping a steady job. I am from a European country. And English is not my main language, so I apologize if this is difficult to read or some words are slightly mistranslated. In my early life, I had some rage issues, but they were gone when I hit the late teenage years. At least I thought they were. I enlisted after my country's equivalent of high school,

in the army, and received training as a mechanized infantry sergeant. The squad I deployed with consisted of six privates and one corporal under my command. I was damn good at both being a soldier and a squad leader. I handled stress and combat well up until the very end of my deployment. My company handled a mix of combat ops and civilian military cooperation ops. During my tour, one of my squadies got killed by an IED and I blamed myself for it. It sucked to me day and night that there might be something I could have done. There wasn't.

I was angry. More angry than I had ever been before, but like, Life in deployment carried on and I hid the anger deep inside me. The entire squad was now more on edge and actually performed better than before. Any kind of lax behavior was gone, but the squad was also on edge. We received a series of what we ended up calling combat casuals to replace the missing member. These replacements were mostly what the U.S. Marines call POGs, people other than grunts, support personnel or mortar squatties that wanted to see what it was like outside the walls.

These guys were, for the most part, okay on patrols, but not trained extensively in the more complex combat scenarios and types. The second to last month of deployment, we initiated a large-scale effort to clear out insurgents and retake key strategic areas. This meant a lot of urban combat. Urban combat is volatile and can turn sour very fast if discipline slips. My company is clearing houses, medium resistance and suffering injuries, all expected, and no casualties so far. Keep in mind we still have a replacement in our squad.

We trained rigorously for this ops, and he kept things very well together, clearing rooms and houses with us. He goes as the first man into a new room, nothing of note, until he hears a wait in our native language from the room. This stops him dead in his tracks, which bunches up my gunner and me behind him in the doorway. The insurgent opens fire, and both our support in my gunner goes down. I don't remember much of what can only have been a minute in real time. I open fire on him, and he goes down. Except he did not die immediately. I guess he was pretty juiced up on something.

So he is lying on the floor bleeding, and I guess I must have kicked his gun away or something because he doesn't move his arms but only lies there, muttering, please don't kill me, and his name over and over again, again in my native language. This makes me snap.

All the rage comes up and I end up punching him, kicking him, hitting him with my helmet, and finally, empty my sidearm magazine into him. This was a massive overkill. I could have just executed him cleanly, but instead I did what in a regular back home setting would be a brutal murder. The aftermath consisted of me dragging my two wounded privates out of the room, getting the rest of my squad to evacuate them. I had to stand in the doorway to make sure no one got into the room to see the mess there we

left. Only my platoon commander saw the room. I ended up dropping a grenade in the room and making the house as booby-trapped rather than try to explain it to anyone. After operation was concluded, my tour was over and the only thing I ever heard of the episode was my platoon commander patting me on the back when we were getting on the flight home and saying, you should probably talk to someone when we get back home. I have never told anyone about this. I highly doubt I will ever ever ever talk about it again. So this is my dirty secret that no one knew and now Reddit knows. And now let's get into some of the top comments on this. Someone says you didn't commit a war crime. You did not storm a house full of women and children and kill them all. What you did was have a high

stress induced reaction to combat in the behavior of a combatant. You are not a bad person. However, I think finding a safe way to talk about this with a professional is important because this is the kind of thing that could give you problems later if not addressed. And then someone replies to that saying, actually, he was in breach of the Geneva Convention, which means it was a war crime, whether it was an understandable breach or not. Professional soldiers are expected to hold themselves to a higher count than guerrilla fighters and terrorists. And then the OP actually respond to this saying, to be honest, insurgents are not covered by the Geneva Convention in very strict terms, since they are not representing a regular armed force. But I agree with your sentiment. We uphold the Geneva Conventions and apply them to the insurgents to prove that we are the bigger man in this conflict.

Not bigger as in stronger, but the more responsible and mature. And then the OP makes an update a few days later saying, My life is in shambles. I'm torn between regretting the previous post and at least being getting this out of my system before I could do even more permanent damage. Since writing my Reddit confession, I have had to face my greatest fear.

Contact from a military official that I was to be called in for a hearing. I felt sick, angry, and confused. I didn't sleep for days. Had to postpone my thesis, had to ask for leave in my job, since I could hardly think straight. This period damaged my relationship with my girlfriend and my family. I was hostile and turned my attention inward. Thinking back, this only made me dig myself further into the hole. I was brought in due to a national security investigation about radicalized citizens who went to Middle Eastern training camps to become holy warriors. I was asked a ton of questions about my deployment ranging from the mildly accusatory to details

about ops, which I could not disclose. Apparently, my old CEO had been forced by hire-ups to spill the beans about our ops and the incident I had, and I was presented with both written and direct proof. An intelligence officer handed me the folder of the declassification of the unclassification of the ops for this particular investigation. I cooperated and spoke openly about what had occurred during my experience. They warned me that what I had done could, as I knew, technically be a war crime, albeit a lesser one. But at the same time assured me that I would not be tried for the event. The investigators presented me with pictures of this kid's family and a few details about their

life in the hopes that I could maybe identify the insurgent slash kid. This kid had been a perfectly normal guy. He had enjoyed sports, especially basketball. He had had a girlfriend but had been forced to break things with her by her parents. From here, a rather disquieting process of radicalization had occurred and he had traveled to Pakistan for training. After the hearing, I contacted a military psych and finally agreed to start sessions to process this problem. I appreciate the advice from the last thread. Finally, the calls for me to contact someone

and talk about it have been answered. If you consider going military, do what you can to avoid being put in a situation like I was in. The camaraderie is fantastic and in general, the military life is pretty good. But do not try to convince yourself that the experiences won't come back and bite you in the ass. It sure did for me. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, the problem is that there's no way to avoid a situation like this if you are a grunt. And now it's a minor war crime because you killed him too much when he was trying to take your life as well. I think how they treated you was a slap in the face of your service and you have nothing to be ashamed of.

I hope you have a full recovery from this and get your life back. And then someone replies to that saying, not that he killed the guy. too much, but that he punched and kicked an incapacitated man after he was completely unable to fight. That gets dodgily close to torture. A bullet carefully placed to kill him would have been more humane, but it's all sort of a great area, because he already must have been in incredible pain, and he didn't suffer for particularly much longer because of O.P.'s rage. I can't imagine dying like that, but I think it was kinder than leaving him there to bleed out and die like he would have been. I caused the house fire which killed my brother five years ago.

Throwaway account because of obvious reasons. When I was 15, I had some of my friends over while I was watching my 11-year-old brother. My parents worked a night shift and I had to babysit him often, which I did not mind because I'd usually bring my friends over, and my brother wouldn't really care. It was around 10 p.m. It was on a Friday, and my brother was asleep, so we wanted to have some fun. So one of my friends brought over weed.

We were in my room, and one of my friends knew how to block the smell of weed with this thing he made that would block the weed smell so we could smoke it in the house. After we all ended up getting high, we decided we wanted to chill in the basement. We were down there for about 15 minutes. Eventually, we wanted to go up to my room again. When we opened the basement door, the whole house was foggy and smelled like smoke, and I could see the fire, spreading to our downstairs living room area since our house was two stories. I grabbed my phone and opened the exit of the basement door, and me and my friends ran out as quickly as possible why I called 911. My brother was upstairs sleeping, and all I could remember was just crying, coughing,

and being so dizzy from the shock and the smoke. I called my parents too, and they rushed home, and they got here after the ambulance and firefighters. When my parents got home, the fire in the house was gone and I remember the paramedics rushing my brother on a stretcher into the ambulance. My mom went in the ambulance with my brother and my dad drove us at the hospital. We found out most of his body had third-degree burns and he was unstable and unconscious due to the smoke. I was not allowed to see my brother while I was there and I had to keep waiting for my mom and dad to tell me everything was okay. My parents and I stayed at the hospital all night and a little into the morning and eventually my mom and dad came out

because they were allowed to see him to tell me that he was passing away due to the smoke inhalation. After our house was investigated for what could have started the fire, we were told that it was started in my room and they found a metal lighter. I remember bursting into tears

telling my parents why I had a lighter in my room and what happened and I remember saying it was all my fault. To this day, I still feel the worst amount of giving. for what happened. And my parents have told me so many times that I didn't know that this would happen. They said they weren't angry with me, but I still feel like they had some sort of anger towards me at the moment. The house was completely gone, and we were lucky we had insurance and were even

able to afford a new one. I'm 20 now, and I go to college and have a part-time job, but the guilt still haunts me so much, and I think about how my brother would have gone on to do a amazing things. I know deep down that it wasn't completely my fault and that I didn't know this would happen, but it still did. My mom and dad tell me all the time that they weren't angry with me and that I was young and didn't know that this would have happened. O.P discovers that her husband's dirty secret is far dirtier than she could have ever expected. Obviously using a throwaway account because, yeah. So over the past few months, I've noticed my husband sneaking out of the house at night,

sometimes for hours at a time. I'm one of those people that fall asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow. So he obviously thinks I'm asleep. But one night, I heard the baby crying and noticed he wasn't there. At first, I thought he was sneaking out to see another woman, but it turns out it was worse than that, in my opinion anyway. We had our first child in February this year, and he's been a really hands-on father. Always is there to take care of the baby despite having a full-time job when I need a break and all that.

I don't know how else to really say what he's doing without it sounding completely insane because it kind of is, but it turns out when my husband goes out at night, all he does is going to the yard where the trash cans are. rummages around and fishes out a dirty diaper from our child, opens it, and just stands there smelling it. It seems to only be the ones that our son has gone number two in, because I've seen him toss back ones that presumably only have been peed in and look for a dirtier one. And then he just stands there, taking this deep, contented breaths in of our child's excrement for ages. The sad thing is he looks so damn happy when he's doing it too. I've watched him from the window for weeks now, just standing out there, sniffing with this huge grin on his face, and then rummaging around for another. The real icing on the cake was the other night when he came back to bed, once again thinking I was asleep.

He must have got a bit too close to the diaper when he was sniffing our son's business because when he got into bed with me, I could smell something and open my eyes a bit when I finally heard him snoring. and it turns out he had a bit of poop on his nose. I felt so disgusted. Man, this is a wild story. And even though this isn't the O.P. confessing, I think it's kind of safe to say this is a weird sort of adjacent confession story. So hopefully you guys think this is relatively fitting for the title of the video. So I guess this is kind of a confession in a different sense. But let's continue.

So I'm out of loss as to what I should do now. I love my husband, but this freaks the hell out of me. Has this happened to anyone else before? Is it an intimate interest or something? I'm too scared to confront him, but I know it needs to be done. And any advice would be great because, I mean, shit. And I see what the hope he did there. And then the O.P says, edit one, I'm still awake right now,

feeding the baby and waiting to see if he'll make a move later on. Thinking about confronting him, but not sure if I will or not yet. will update. Edit two. Wow, I can't believe how many people have replied to this post. First of all, thank you all for the people who wrote him with such thoughtful advice. I can't reply to everyone, but I've read every comment on here, so thank you. I still haven't confronted my husband about what he's doing.

And the other night, after my update, after waiting an hour or two, sure enough, he snuck out again for his nightly diaper sniff. I was planning on confronting him, but he ended up coming inside after only smelling one or two. and by the time he came back into bed, I was too nervous and flustered to say anything, so I just pretended to be asleep. I've decided, though, that either tonight or whenever he goes outside next, he doesn't every night, but most nights, to take a photo of him in the act and be waiting for him with the evidence when he returns inside. I've never been good with words, and I'm just too nervous to sit down with him and bring it up,

and someone suggested I photograph slash video him, so he has no choice to explain since I obviously have evidence. evidence and leave him no room to pass it off as he may be seeing him doing it something else. Hopefully I can get a clear enough picture that I'll be enough for him to realize that there's no way out but confront the issue. I'm nervous about how he will react. But I know he loves me and our family and hopefully there is some way we can work through whatever this is together as a family. Thanks again for all the supportive comments and advice. There has been overwhelming in support in only a few weird comments, and I really appreciate people reserving judgment of my

family and I will update again once I've confronted him, and hopefully I'll be able to wrap this up nicely, and it'll be happy endings all around. And then the OP gives us an update, saying, first of all, I'm really sorry that it's taken so long to update about this. I've just locked on now for the first time in weeks because things have been absolutely insane for me. I've been putting it off coming on here and updating because I'm ashamed and upset and things did. didn't go the way I'd hoped after confronting my husband. Oh boy, what the fuck happened? And where is this about a go? I have no clue. And then the OP says, and it's all been just way too much for me to handle confronting myself, let along confessing to all of you. But I understand I posted

my confession on here for advice, was met with overwhelming response, support, and understanding, and it's only fair that I give you guys at least one update on the situation as it stands today. I hope you all understand that I didn't want to go into too much detail with this. Firstly, to protect our identities because regardless of what happens, I never did this to name and shame anyone. And secondly, because it's all too painful right now for me to sit down and write out every inch of hurt that has happened to me and my family over the past few weeks. I just don't have that emotional strength right now. Maybe in time I will, but right now, I just don't. So forgive me in advance if this is brief or I skim over details or dodge specifics.

Basically, a few nights after I posted my last edit on the previous post, I gathered the courage to confront my husband. In hindsight, it might have not been the best way to do it, but at the time it seemed logical in the least confronting way I could with still providing proof for me and my husband to see. So that night, I took some pictures with my iPhone and a short video out of our bedroom window of my husband outside. It was blurry and hard to see. But enough for him to understand.

I knew what was going on. I waited for him on our bed with the evidence for a good 45 minutes before he came back upstairs. I expected him to be shocked and asked me what I was doing. But instead, he surprised me. He said something along the lines of, oh, did the baby wake you up? I was just downstairs eating some leftovers. Guses me on the cheek. Good night then.

And tucks himself in and rolls over to sleep. I was dumbfounded at how quick he was to lie straight to my face. I guess when he came upstairs, I expected him to not be able to hold back from what he had been doing, or at least be worried about why I was awake, or the fact that I was awake. It made me so mad to see he was so prepared to light on my face and pretend everything was fine when I had been concerned and upset for weeks. That exploded. I marched around the bed and shoved the evidence in his face,

yelling at him and asking what the fuck you've been doing for all this time and why. I demanded answers. The next few hours went by in a blur of yelling and arguing. His argument basically was that I didn't, couldn't, and would never understand why he did it. So why should he even bother telling me? My issue was the fact that I was trying really hard to be understanding of his nightly trash can visits, but instead I just got lied to by the one person in the world who was supposed to be honest to me. A lot more yelling, and I'm bawling at this stage.

And asked between sobs if it's some sort of weird arousal thing for him. him. And he surprises me once more by going completely silent and just looks down at his feet. I explode once more asking him how on earth can he find our child's poop in an arousal way, to which he got angrier than I've ever seen him before my life. He yelled at me, See, this is exactly why I can't ever tell you, and walked out our front door and drove off. He's been staying at his brother's house since and has been able to see our son. Frankly, if he's getting off by her son in any way, I don't want him here. I thought I'd give us a few days to cool down before calling him, but he called the next day

and said we needed to talk about getting a divorce. Wow. We tried to both have a calm conversation. I said to him, please let's try and sort something out, counseling, anything. And all he said in reply was, can I see my son though? and I told him that honestly, I didn't think it was a good idea at this time considering these circumstances. He said okay and told him he'd be getting a lawyer and I probably should be too. So right now, we're doing it as civilly as we can through the legal system.

But I doubt that he has anything against me considering I have evidence of sorts. My mother has come to stay with me in the family home to help out with the baby and I haven't had the courage to tell her what our divorce is over. I'm just too ashamed. All I've said is, it's bad, and I tried giving him the option to counseling which he rejected, and that's that. I don't know what will happen from here, but I thought at least you guys should know the essence of it. Thanks again for all these important understanding.

I hope you don't judge me for the way I approached it. I know I could have done better, but what's done is done and I need to just put my heartbreak aside and try moving forward for the sake of my son, because he is and always will. will be the priority in my life. And it has been eight years since the last update. And I mean, wow, that was one hell of a confession. And I do not know how this OPE is going to approach telling her mother how they got divorced. But I see no fault in the way she approached this.

I mean, anybody, if they see their significant other, go outside every single night to sniff their child's poop. Yeah, they would be a little bit weirded out by that. they'd be like, hey, what are you doing at night? And then the husband gets super defensive and start, like, very, very weird. I think it's crazy how quickly he's like, let's get a divorce. I mean, seems pretty damning, in my opinion. Especially when she asked, what was the question?

Like, why do you find it interesting to, you know, sniff our child's poop and talking about the child? And he got very weird about that, which I think it's very, very, very suspicious, very, very, very odd, obviously and very creepy. A very wild confession. This isn't the usual confession I cover, but I just thought it was insane and also pretty disturbing.

So I just thought I might have to add it, but what are your guys' thoughts on this? I just thought it was pretty wild. And now on to a viewer confession. Hey, Snook. I hope you're doing well, Pimp. I just wanted to say I appreciate all the hard work you put into making videos.

I listen to every upload at work and try to comment if I have the time. Anyways, this story took place when I was in high school, and I've never really told anyone except a really close friend. That's not to say, nobody knows about it, but I don't really share it. I recently was contacted by the ex in question, which is what reminded me of this and prompted me to write it. As the title says, I got cheated on and proceeded to destroy her entire family.

Now, I want to preface this by saying what happened was never my attention, but I suppose if I thought about my actions for even a brief moment, I could have foreseen a lot of what happened. This story begins when I was a sophomore in high school. I had a bit of a glow-up and started getting my first bit of female tension. I started sneaking out to hang out with a girl and get up to some nefarious activities. Before this, I was a good kid for the most part. I had good grades. I was playing varsity baseball as a freshman, and I stayed out of trouble.

Shortly after meeting the screen, girl, I tore my labrum playing baseball and had to get surgery. While I missed the start of baseball season, I started to hang out with this girl even more. We went from sneaking out maybe once every couple weeks to every single night. I'd pay my brother $5 and he would let me take his car out for the night. Well, one night I picked this girl up and she had weed with her. I had smoked a couple times before. However, my dad was not only a deputy at the time, but he was on the narcotic stage. task force for the county. So despite the fact I live in a very weed-friendly state, I knew I would be screwed if I ever got caught. Even though my parents were divorced, I knew my mom would tell my dad.

The risk simply was not worth the reward. Anyways, the regular M.O. was to pick her up, then drive the 15 minutes back to my house out in the sticks. I had a big house and it was a lot easier to chill at my house. So that cool spring night, I wasn't really thinking, with the right head and the temptation one. We ripped a blank page out of my Bible. We rolled it up and smoked down the woods on my property. Man, I knew I liked weed, but that night was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. You see, I like this girl.

But really, she was just the first attractive girl to ever be interested in me like that. And right as I was figuring that out, I also figured out how much I liked smoking. And well, this girl was someone I could smoke with. And obviously, I liked the naughty-noddy-noddy time as well. So every day, I would sneak out, pick her up, smoke, and pretend to watch movies until an hour before my parents woke up. Then I would take her home. Every night. I was tired every day.

And my shoulder was not getting any better in terms of playing baseball again. I was four months post-op and still could not throw baseball without extreme pain for days. and without my main reason to keep my grades up, I started slacking in school. Then one day at lunch, there was talk about our spring break starting two weeks early. If you were inhaling O2 at the time, you know what this was. The lockdown started. I was so depressed for all the reasons everyone else was. Plus, my nightmare of a labrum slapped tear that would not heal properly.

I started smoking by myself all day. It was at this time, I also started stealing liquor from my, parents. I stopped logging into my Zooms and spiraled bad. To say the least, I was self-destructing. To make it worse, my brother left her boot camp that summer, meaning I had no more responsible oversight in that house. My parents had been split since I was a little kid, and I rarely made the 90-minute drive to my dad's house. I was still hanging out with this girl every day. One fall evening, she blocked me from leaving her house. She had this sad look on her face when she asked me, Are you ever going to actually ask me to be your girlfriend?

At that moment, I realized again how much I didn't really like this girl. But instead of being mature and smart, I folded like a lawn chair. I asked her to be my girlfriend. She was hot. I was whipped. I liked having someone to smoke with 24-7. But all it was doing was feeding into my depression, which I would then suppress with Degongia and liquor.

See the spiral? And it certainly did not help that I liked it so much. Any sort of messed up I could be, I would get and I loved it. Which is why when my now girlfriend pulled out two tabs of acid one night, while we were watching the sunset at a parking garage, it didn't take much convincing. That was the beginning of my psychedelic addiction. It started with once every month or so.

Then every two weeks as soon as my tolerance was gone. Then every week. doubling the dose each time. What I did not know at the time was that I am genetically prone to bipolar disorder, depression, and some other mental disorders. Within 14 months, I'd gone from a straight A varsity baseball player to a bipolar drug-addicted dropout. My mom noticed.

It would have been impossible not to. I started going to therapy and to get mental healthy vows, got diagnosed with bipolar disorder and depression, then started the medications. That was the worst five months of my life. The side effects were worse than the problems themselves. It's just guesswork. Torturous guesswork. My mental health took major tolls on my relationship.

I noticed things. One night she called me and asked if a guy could come over to smoke. I knew she would cheat. I knew she had already had with him. But I was weak. I'd let it happen. Star in argument, I have no proof and just feel like shit. I doubled down on all of it.

The drinking, smoking, psychedelics, and intimacy. It was such a toxic situation, and I was so blind to it all. I was 16 working 4 p.m. to 1 a.m. as a dishwasher, selling drugs in the day to pay for my own increasingly more expensive addictions. To put it into perspective for all these smokers out there, I was smoking 4 to 6, um, geez. I can't say the actual word or the dosing because of guideline reasons, but you get it. This continued until it all came to head on my 17th birthday.

We dropped my sister off at a friend's house and started to have an argument. That's when she told me, she cheated on me with three different guys. And I'm unsure if the emailer who sent this email meant sister or girlfriend. I dropped my sister off at a friend's house and she admitted she cheated on me. I assume it's girlfriend, but let's continue. He says she used it as a weapon to belittle me, trashed me as a person and hurt me so deep. I went numb.

Yeah, I think this is a girlfriend. I drove to his Taco Bell tears rolling down my face and parked. I told her to go inside and get some food and cool off. As soon as she got out, I left her there. I went to my trusty Diamond Shamrock that didn't ID and got a case of beer. I woke up in my car on the side of a random county road in the sticks. I drove home and started plotting. I wanted to hurt her how she hurt me.

worse. I always will take it one step further. I decided I would send her dad a text, telling him every secret I knew about her. I was always really close with her dad, and he really liked me. I also knew he would rain hellfire down on her if he knew even a tiny bit of the shit she got up to. So I started my message by telling him his daughter cheated. I told him exactly where to look on her phone for incriminating messages of drug use, stealing his truck, etc. I then told him where to find her weed stash. I told him about how his wife just gave her another phone when he took hers. I told him about how his wife would let us smoke while she was there. I told him about how they all talk shit about him. I told him everything. I sent the message in the next morning. He replied with

a thumbs up. That's the most bad thing to do. I didn't think about it again. I didn't think about it again. I knew if anything happened, I wouldn't find out until much later through mutual friends because I didn't go to school anymore at that point. Well, I wouldn't be writing this unless something happened. About three months later, one of my ex's friends added me on Snapchat. She just wanted to bump uglies, if you're smelling what I'm stepping in. Well, that night, she ended up telling me what happened in that household. Her dad got my message and went nuclear.

found out everything I said was true, and to say the least, he was pissed. He found her stash, the second phone, the messages, the pictures, all of it. He had a conversation with his wife that ended with him wanting divorce. He smashed all their phones and left, transferred all their money to an account only he has access to, and ghosted them. He moved out of state that same week with no money. they had to figure out how to survive. Her older sister moved in with her boyfriend, my ex moved in with a friend, and the mom did the same. Her dad owned a very successful business, and the mom didn't

work or anything. Their home was only in her dad's name. He put it on the market within two weeks, and it sold two weeks after that. Their older brother, who had been out of the house, sided with the dad, and that started another problem. When my ex wouldn't completely cut it her brother, brother off, her mom cut her off. Within a month, she was disowned by both her parents. Holy shit, that escalated quick. Let's continue. That night, me and her friend ended up doing the deed, and in my post-nut clarity, I began to reflect on the situation. Had I really caused them to get a divorce? Was it my place to tell him any of that information? It started to eat away at me. But in my drug-saturated brain, it didn't take me long to forget about it and move on

without a care. About a year later, I saw a mutual friend at a local festival. I went to say what's up to her, and she just looked disgusted with me. I asked her why she was being so, for a lack of better words, bitchy. Then she blew up on me, saying, really, you piece of shit? I'm bitchy. You got ex-his-name's mom killed. Whoa, I interrupted her. What the fuck are you talking about? I got her mom killed? Are you brain dead? After a brief back and forth, she agreed to tell me what happened with her mom. Apparently, her mom started drinking. A lot. About a month later, I got my last update on my ex. Her sister went to stop by her mom's apartment. She opened the door and found her mom motionless on the couch. Her sister was a nursing major and immediately knew her mom was dead. She had drank herself to death.

I could not believe what she told me. When I got home, I found her obituary online. There I was, at my desk, looking at the obituary for a woman who I saw every day for months, a woman who had fed me countless times, who allowed me to stay in her home and date her daughter. Dead at 46. Because of me. Was it because of me? Back and forth. I'd rationalize both sides of my mind. I mean, she chose to go behind his back. She chose to let teenagers smoke weed at her house, but I chose to blow the whistle. Who knows what would have happened if I didn't? But now we all know what happened after I did.

And it was fucking with my head. So did the only thing I had learned to do in distress, lean harder into my substance abuse and self-destruction, my addiction spiraled again, and my mental health reached in all-time low. I deleted all socials, all contacts, packed my clothes, and just left. I spent the next three years traveling across the U.S.

battling a severe substance dependency. I'm now 22. Living close to family again. And have overcame my dependency. My mental health is in a much better state now. And I stay far away from hard alcohol and hard drugs. I still smoke after work, maybe a beer or two, but nowhere near how I used to.

As I mentioned at the beginning of the story, I was only reminded of this because my ex recently got into contact with me. I did not respond. I don't know what else to say. How to go about a conversation with someone whose life I ruined? I see the text notification every day and I just look at it and my heart sinks. I don't want to respond, but maybe I owe it to her?

I don't know. She also seems to be doing well from what I see online, so I don't want to damage any healing either of us had had from, from that awful situation. I know I'm exponentially more mature now than I was back then, but I just don't want to open that door again. To end, I want to clear a few things up. I do not want to come across as portraying myself as a victim.

I'm well aware that I made a stupid decision when I was younger that ruined the lives of many people. I'm not proud of it by any standard. I'm not saying my ex or anyone else but me is responsible for where my life ended up. We were both immature with little to no positive guidance. I think we all made our mistakes that led up to this. Every mistake in piss-poor decision was essential to where this all ended up.

To dwell on bad choices too much is not good. To dwell on it, analyze, learn, grow, and move on, that is where healing is found. If anyone reading slash listening to this and is being slash has been cheated on, walk away with your head up. It hurts. It's not easy, but it's the mature thing to do. They have chosen someone else. Go. Don't try to get back at them. Don't try to fix things. Drugs are bad, period. If you haven't done them, don't. Worst case, you'll like it. And forever will struggle with the knowledge that a little puff or sniff can make any situation that much more fun and enjoyable.

If you are currently struggling with substance abuse, recognize your problem first, then recognize how powerless you have become against it for so long. Reach out for help. Hotlines, friends, family, churches, wherever you can find it, get it. Your brain is your own enemy right now. Make a resolve like no other that you want sobriety over anything else. That goes for anyone. From a fent addict to a kid in high school,

addicted to overpriced carts, the punishment, heartaches and trials you go through now will save you and everyone around you from years and years of suffering. To all my people battling mental demons, I love you. It can and will get better.

Not just for a time. There is hope. Reach out for help. I promise you there is someone, somewhere who cares enough for you to give you the assistance you need. But they cannot make these steps for you. Be strong. You're only given as much suffering as you can take.

Know that there is purpose in your pain, but have peace in the knowledge that you may never, ever fully know the reason you are enduring the sufferings you are. Thanks for reading my confession. Think what you want, but I love you all. Stay safe and keep on snooking it. I knew my brother was going to commit S-word, and I didn't try to stop him. Hi, Snook, I've been watching your videos for years now, as I deliver packages for FedEx and I love your content. So much so that I have almost no more of them to listen to. So thank you for being a big part of my life. I hope this can make it into a video, as I feel it may have some value to others who may relate.

All names have been changed for privacy. Please keep me anonymous. Now on to my confession. In order to truly paint the picture for this confession, I need to give some backstory context. Rewind the year to early 2012. I, age 11 at this time, was living with my mom and her douchebag husband in a small town in Utah. I never clicked with that guy. And he threatened harmed me plenty.

and at one point actually did. Anyway, I had a falling out with my mother, and one early, rainy morning, after a big fight, she ordered me into her van. Didn't let me gather my things, and I was only wearing gym shorts. In the van, she didn't say a word, only drove angrily.

She dropped me off in my dad's apartment and sped away. I knocked on his door, and he and his wife, we will call D.D. accepted me with open arm. The next couple of months is where I get acquainted with D.D.'s family. Her parents and her children. Her two sons lived with us, 16 male, Ryan, and 12-year-old male, Brian. My stepbrothers over the next two years became what I saw as brothers. The events over these two years can be made into stories

themselves, but that's not the topic today. Now, let's go forward a year. Into early 2013, I am now 12 years of age. Me and Ryan are best bros. He was the older brother I never had. He was funny, made tons of jokes, always made people laugh. He was charming and had the looks. Tall, dark, and handsome, as some would say. He had it all.

I looked up to him, but I believe it was August of that year, Ryan got into a terrible car accident, going 70 miles an hour, no seatbelt, and crashed into a ditch, hitting something. I don't know what exactly, but he ended up flying through his window shield and into the ditch. Oncoming traffic found him and called the police. He had a massive open gash in his head and was unconscious. I still remember the call my dad and D.D. God. It was traumatic for us all.

At the hospital, Ryan ended up needing brain surgery. After a couple of weeks, he made a full recovery and was discharged. The weeks following, I noticed Ryan wasn't the same. He had new interests and didn't make as many jokes. He was suddenly into Mexican music and language. He lost friends and had an obsession with this one girl at his school. One day, while in my room, he came in with an extension cord and told me something along the lines of,

I swear to God I'm going to kill this lady, referring to D.D. I'm going to strangle her with this cord, and all the while had a smile on his face. I found the statement shocking, but at the same time, I also thought he was making a dark joke. He was a jokester after all. Another time, close to Halloween, he bought a mask and would spend a lot of time customizing it. One time, I went to the shed where he would work on his mask, which was black and marked with scratches and expressionless, I told him how cool his mask was looking. He said thanks and proceeded to say, if you hear on the news about a shooting and the person wore this mask, you know it was me. Remember that. Again, shocking, but I thought he was making a dark joke. Now, almost a decade later, I realized these statements were most

likely cries for help. I just wish I could see that when I was so young. Now, another year later, early 2014, I was 13 years of age. I noticed Ryan was a lot more isolated, he hardly talked to people, and always seemed angry. I never knew why, but he had temper issues. My dad, in D.D.'s, shared birthday was coming up, and Ryan had plans to surprise them with a gift. He told me it was going to be amazing and they were going to love it. But in the meantime, we was going to write in his journal about his ongoings. A week goes by and it is now my dad and his wife, Dede's shared birthday. Ryan is sitting at the dinner table writing in his journal.

I ask him what he is doing. He replies, shockingly, it's my S-word note. At my immature age of 13 and lack of experience with this type of stuff, I said, Ha ha, no it isn't. Ryan looked up at me, expressionless,

like his mask, and simply said, yes, it is. Now, to perface this, at my young age of 13, I have never had to deal with death, especially anyone so close to me.

I didn't know the seriousness. I didn't know how to handle this. I have never needed to. I didn't believe him. My heart hurts, with what I'm about to type out. I told him, if he was going to do it,

he should spend the rest of his credit card and buy me things. I know. How disgusting, I obliged. For the rest of the day, my biological brother and Ryan hung out. We walked the town as he told me his plans to commit S-word. Looking back, I knew I believed him by that point.

but I didn't want to. I wanted to believe he was just making another dark joke, and we would all laugh about it later. We walked and walked, talked, talked, then we made it to Walmart, where he proceeded to buy me and my brother things, with the rest of his money. At this point, I needed it to talk to him.

It had gotten too real. We sat outside Walmart, and chatted. I told him he shouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. We love him and so many others do. But he would go on to tell me nothing would change his mind. Nobody was going to stop him. Then he made a statement that still chills me to this day. He said, you realize, if I don't do this, I'm going to kill everyone, right? I'm going to kill everyone and go to prison. To which I replied, even me? And chillingly, he simply replied, yes.

Then he said, so I need to do this. I don't think you want me to end your life or your dads. So, if you try to tell anyone or call the police, I will kill you all and commit S word later. Following this was silence. I didn't know what to say. I was terrified. I didn't want him to fall through, and I didn't want him to kill us all.

We finished the walk and ended up at his grandparents' house. This is where he dropped off the Walmart supplies and his S-word note. He told them not to open any of it until 9 p.m. It was a surprise. For whatever reason, they agreed. His grandparents took me and my biological brother back home where, just before leaving, Ryan looked at me with a smile and said, Bye, bro.

I'll see you tomorrow. This statement leaves a deep sadness in me to this day. I stay silent. Now I have my dad's and Dede's apartment an hour goes by. Just me and my dad alone as Didi was at a meeting. We are playing video games and eating dinner. Then my dad gets a call. I knew.

I knew what that call was. I look over to my dad. He is stunned. He puts a hand to his mouth and begins to silently cry. I've only ever seen my dad cry like that twice in my life. This was serious. He hangs up the phone, looks at me, and says, Ryan fucking committed S word.

He fucking committed S word. I began to cry. We cried and hugged on my dad's birthday. The note, which was titled The Comedian, was opened too late by his grandparents, and it revealed everything. his plans to commit a shooting, the reasons he came to this decision,

so many reasons. We found out a big reason was his father was also committed S-word while he was a young boy, and his family would S-A him. The birthday surprise he had for my dad and D-D., it was terrifying. He was going to kill them both. Then me, my brother,

and his brother, but he didn't. I guess I can thank him for that. But in the end, I still feel guilty. I wish I knew more. I wish I was more mature. I wish I pulled him out of that. All the red flags, all the warning signs, I was too young and stupid.

My brother committed S-Wrower. word. And I didn't stop him. To this day, over a decade later, I am now 25 years old. I have lived longer than he did. I have a beautiful wife and two beautiful children. I have everything he never got to have. I will forever feel guilt. Sadness. Such a great guy. Such a great guy. Such a a terrible ending. If this gets in a video, I want everyone to know whether you are a young, ignorant kid like I was, or an older person. Please, please do everything you can to save someone. See the warning signs. Take their words seriously. Pull them out of that place and save a loved one. or end up like me.

Thank you, Snook, for reading, and I hope this can be of some value to someone. There is a lot to learn from my mistakes. I don't care that my drug addict sister is homeless and may lose a limb. If that makes me a bad person, so be it. My sister is a drug addict, me 29 female, her 30 female.

She's never had a legal prescription for, opioids. She's never had an injury that would mean she needed them. I haven't spoke to her in almost a decade. My parents are still in contact with her. I'm tired of them enabling my sister and trying to get me to reestablish contact. My parents have informed me that my sister is homeless again and she is close to losing a limb. Maybe I'm a bad person, but I don't care. They told me the drug supply in the U.S. is contaminated, and it has now made its way to our province and tainted the supply. There is some kind of tranquilizer in them that makes limbs rot and die. They want to move my sister into their house and say they need my help to pay for rehab again. When she first

started using drugs 11 years ago, I gave up my measly savings to help my parents pay for her stay in the rehab. I participated in family therapy. As soon as she got out, she went right back to to using drugs again. She told me she would trade my life for drugs. Oh man. After that, I cut off contact. Since then, she's been in rehab again. She's been to prison. She lies and steals. This isn't the first time she's been homeless. I don't even know the number of times she's ODed. The most insane part of this is that she's been told by multiple doctors she will lose her limb. but she keeps on doing exactly that and doing it. Even the threat of losing a limb is enough to stop her from using.

I told my parents I don't care, and they are angry. But I also told them to never mention her to me ever again. If it makes me a bad person, so be it. She's dead to me, and I'm sick of my parents enabling her. She is selfish, and I want nothing to do with this. and we didn't get an update for three months from the OP. A lot of people in the comments were trying to reassure that it's a very hard situation and they understand whatever choice she does make, whether to help or not her sister.

That's what most of the comments were saying. And three months later, she makes an update. Just a warning that some people may find this next bit to be disturbing. The limb is gone. My sister had to have an amputated, not long after my last post. It's been almost two months since she lost the limb, and she is still using drugs. Losing a limb wasn't enough of a wake-up call. She did not go to fall-up appointments and didn't go to rehab. Instead, she went to the streets and is continuing to use drugs. My parents,

55 female and 55 male, had been letting my 29 female, sister 30F, stay with them because she ended up homeless again. but she would either leave to go back to the streets or bring drugs into the house. I took a step back from my parents and was low contact because they wouldn't stop asking me to help her and also to pay for her rehab again. Now I have completely stopped talking to them because they say it's my fault. What happened to her? Wow.

Multiple doctors told my sister she would lose that limb. Yet she continued to do it. Somehow it's my fault though. I was so angry when my parents said that. I had already been no contact with my sister for a long time over her drug use. Now, it'll be the same for my parents. As far as I'm concerned, they all burn that bridge and there's no going back. I'm done with the three of them.

To reiterate what I said in my last post, I don't care if not helping my sister makes me a bad person. So anyone telling me to have compassion for her can save it. Also, this wasn't a case of her having an injury and a legal prescription that was out of control. By my sister's own admission, she started taking opioids at parties and because it was fun. Now the drug supply in our province is tainted and the doctors warned her several times what would happen if she kept doing it. Even after everything that happened, she is still using. She is the only one responsible for what happened to her. And this is just such a

sad situation. Not only did the O.P. lose their sister, but they also lost their parents. And I find it utterly disgusting that the parents are blaming the O.P. For what happened to her, that is so, so wrong and disgusting, in my opinion. I mean, obviously, the parents are in a complete shitstorm of things going on. I mean, I can't imagine. But for you to blame your daughter and say it's her fault for your sister's drug addiction and also it's your fault for her losing a limb? How? I mean, the OP outlined in the last post, she spent all her savings for the first round of rehab, and it didn't work.

She went through all her savings. I mean, that showed her love. Why would she do it again to herself? She knows that her sister has a problem in it. She's too far gone. So I'm interested to see what you guys think on this. Do you think the OP should have compassion or not? I mean, I understand what the OP is saying completely.

And I totally understand why the OP cut off complete contact with both of them. They both don't love the sister. I mean, also, let's not forget, the OP sister said she would trade her life for drugs. That is even crazier. And so why would the OP have compassion for her sister? because obviously her sister doesn't have compassion for her in the slightest. Obviously, she's in the deep hell of addiction, but that doesn't change what she said.

And so for the OP to cut off contact, I have to say I understand. And let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, as a former addict, I understand this. You have to protect yourself, and the addict needs to hit a bottom in order to change. Trying to help them can just enable their addiction and prevent them from ever recovering. The sad thing is that everyone's bottom or point that makes them realize they need to change is different. Some never hit this point and will either die or wind up in prison or both. That may be the case for your sister.

I'm sure on some level you love and care for your sister. The problem is that addiction changes a person into someone else. Your sister has burned you repeatedly and isn't the same person you knew before addiction. Don't feel bad for not loving that person, but understand that if your sister can get clean, her old self will hopefully come back. I feel for you and all the families that are destroyed by this terrible disease. Someone else says, I mentioned this on O.P.'s other posts, but I'm commenting it over here so people can realize just how messed up and tragic the sister's situation is. The tainted drugs Opie mentions

in her post is due to something called, um, aka Trank is an animal tranquilizer, which is being added to opioids and other drugs. If you are tempted to do an online search for wear, the pictures are gruesome. This is what happened to O.P.'s sister's limb. And then a comment to replies to when the opi said, quote, I took a step back from my parents and was low contact because they wouldn't stop ask me to help her and also to pay for a rehab again. Now I have completely stopped talking to them because they say it's my fault what happened to her. And the commenter replies saying, it sounds like your parents are inappropriate to this. Make this a burden to be shifted on you. and they should have paid for her rehab and not you.

Myself, I tend to not have as much compassion for addicts who took drugs due to curiosity. For entertainment or fun, when so many efforts have been put forth into public campaigning against doing drugs, never mind real-life examples of addicts themselves. So, yes, she's your sister, is responsible for what's happened to her. It sounds like your parents may be enabling her. Someone else says, your parents are just wanting someone to. to be mad at. It has to be everyone and everything else's fault that she's this bad. An addict has to want to stop, and it's obvious she doesn't want to. You paying for rehabs and saving her over and

over again will do nothing. If anything, it just buys her more time. We tried everything for my mom, but her children, her family, her husband, and her friends weren't enough of a reason to stop. Hitting rock bottom and losing everything and everyone else was not a wake-up call. Hepatac, I'm not even going to try to pronounce that word, and almost dying was not enough. So I just had to step away. I won't destroy my life for someone who doesn't care. And I think that final line in that commenter's comment sums it up pretty well. The OP's sister doesn't care.

Doesn't care about her sister, doesn't care about her family, doesn't care about her own personal well-being, her body, et cetera. So why would the OP destroy their life and everything? just, yeah, uprooped their entire lives and just spend all their money, spend all their time, spend all their time caring for someone who doesn't love them back. So I think that final line of that final comment summed it up pretty well, but I just really, really wish the O.P. Well, and I hope they're doing better now. And I just hope that the O.P. sister can recover from this addiction and turn their life around. But I guess we'll have to wait and see if we

get another updates, but yeah, I just really hope this situation turns around. I found my wife's body in the closet yesterday. Pretty self-explanatory. I left for work at nine the night before, got off early since it was my weekend, and went upstairs to find she'd committed S-word from our closet door and a rope. She suffered from mental health issues most of her life and I guess I knew this might happen one day, but I didn't think it would be yesterday. The police came and went. We're sorry for your loss. Some friends came and picked me up. I'll be staying in the guest room for a bit, I guess. My family came to pick up my son. He'll be three in April. My sister-in-law is going to look after him, so at least I'll have his cousins to play with him.

I had to comfort her mother, who blames herself. I had to call my job to tell him that I needed some time. I had to call estranged friends, having them disseminate to others I couldn't reach, got drunk, took an ambient, slept, went to the car wash with a friend, stayed there until 3 a.m., watched Space Jam when I got back, talked to my dead wife in the rain. It's been a roller coaster of tears and laughter in silence, and I have so many questions. that can wait. The weirdest thing is, though, I'm feeling intensely aroused and I'm having trouble falling asleep. Normally, I jerk it to help myself drift off and believe me I want to, but I don't think I can. Looking at adult videos seems disrespectful, and I can't close my eyes without seeing her, so here I am, wide awake, spilling my guts into the void. Yes,

was the worst day of my life. And I'm worried about jerking it. God help me. Edit. I just wanted to say how grateful I am for everyone who reached out this morning. I want to say so much more, but everything I type looks wrong. My son and I will be okay. My wife is in no more pain.

I have the most wonderful group of people sitting in this room with me right now. I'm not angry. Not with my wife, anyhow. I'm angry with her disease, but I couldn't have asked the girl I married to go on hurting anymore. If you or someone you know is suffering from mental health problems, let someone know. Let someone try. Fight like hell. Kiss your wife when you leave for work.

Reddeter loses over $800,000 gambling and hides it from his family. in the first post is, I lost $100,000 in four weeks. I need advice. I'm 36 years old and not in debt other than a mortgage. I have a eight-month-old daughter and I'm scared to death. I've been gambling somewhat randomly since college. I'm well over $300,000 now in losses, most of which was my money, and now $100,000 just in the last four weeks.

and every time I went back it was to recover from the day before, but the numbers kept adding up. My wife doesn't know a thing. The money is mine, $100,000 gifted by my dad, who is completely against even wasting a dollar and who put his trust in me to use it wisely for family, success, or paying down my mortgage.

I'm a terrible son. I feel shame and regret to even look him in the eye, knowing what I've done in a matter of week. It took many years for him to make. I still feel I need to go back to get it back. My wife doesn't know yet, keyword. It'll be a very ugly convo when she finds out. Maybe even walk out on me.

Who knows? That kind of money isn't easy to hide, right? I feel depressed, broken, failure. I just want this $100,000 back. It's just too much to lose. A $10,000 loss turns to $15, and then $7,500 and just downhill from there. I lost all 22,500 and kept going back losing $10,000 to $15,000 per day at times.

What should I do? Talk to my wife? She will lose it. And if my dad finds out, I'm afraid he won't be able to take it, and I'll be the reason for what happens to him. I'm such a bad son. And then the OP makes another post about a month later, saying, Rock bottom. Painful truth and unsure what the future holds. He says,

Hey guys, 36 mail, and I've posted quite a bit, so in response to my first post, I say this. Listen to every word people say here. Something took over me. I can't explain it because I don't know myself what the fuck happened. Losing money is evil. It will make you do things out of control. The fight to recover losses kept turning into a losing battle over and over again, so here I am, Rock Bottom. In just two months, I've lost everything in my bank account, $170,000, and also took out $10,000 from credit card and another $10,000 from personal line of credits,

so I'm officially in a gambling debt of $20,000. Now, that's a total of $190,000. And it's a harsh reality. What does it feel like? Hmm, butterflies in your stomach. The earth just slipped from under your feet and you feel light, but there's weight pushing you down. Disbelief because the gambling mind cannot accept what happened, but then reality kicks in because the bank is proof. Shame, disgust, Sward thoughts, frowned but pretending to smile.

Wife doesn't know yet of my situation, so I'm lying to my partner. Always a bad thing. Nine-month-old daughter, whom I now. feel like I've ruined a comfortable lifer alongside my wife. I first posted out a $100,000 loss. Everyone said stop, stay clean, tell the truth. It doesn't get better. I continue to go back over and over again because I could not accept it. Bottom line, accept it now, where you're going to be where I am. Now over $500,000 in losses out of which $190,000 is very recent. This is the end reality. it feels a lot worse than when you win a single bet.

And that's not the last post. There's a lot of posts after this, but I mean, this is just so terrifying to me. It's just the addiction of gambling. Gambling is just such a trap. And I mean, I hope a lot of you guys know this, but I mean, it's just not worth even doing once. It's like any other drug. It's like, would you try H-1ch? Would you try crystal once?

Probably not. But people are so casual about gambling. And they're like, oh, it's fine. Just put five bucks on the game. That five bucks turns to 10. That 10 turns to 20. The 20 turns to 100. And then soon enough, you're losing thousands of dollars.

And you think you can win it back. You think you can win it back. And this is just obvious gambling addiction. But it just can start so casually and then spiral into something like this. And this might not be like the conventional, terrifying confession where someone confessed that killed somebody. but this is just the confession of someone ruining their life because they just ruined his daughter's life and his wife's life.

I mean, imagine knowing or not knowing your partner is losing all of his money. That takes care of you and your kid. That is beyond terrifying to me. But anyways, let's move on to his next post. Titled, Struggling to Forget and Complete Wreck, Posted About 10 Days Later, And the post reads as follows. Update from previous posts. Life feels very depressing.

Love playing with my daughter, and every time I look at her, the thought crosses my mind. Why did I blow my money at the casino where I should have used it for a future? College, car, real estate, necessities, and the list goes on. Have not told the wife yet, nor has she poked into the bank account that would show nothing but withdrawals in the thousands for the last two and a half months. Losing strength. Stress is killing me because I picked up dead to gamble and lost everything. Casinos are temporarily shut down effective today, so good that I can't go to relapse.

I need to tell the wife. Don't have the courage because I can't explain how I didn't learn a lesson, but ended up losing $200,000. I don't know if she'll understand, and I'm also afraid of the shame this brings once everyone in the family finds out. killed my self-esteem. I'm a wreck and stressed to no end. To those reading this, stay strong, let's get rid of this horrible demon. And something I forgot to say about before the last post,

like he also took his dad's money and used it. I mean, not only did he destroy his own financial career. He destroyed the faith that his father had in him, which is not material, but that is so horrible. and sad. I mean, how will O.P.'s father ever trust him again? He gave him $100,000 to take care of his family with, and he wasted it gambling. God, just so, so sad. His next post was titled, Day 1 starts, $275,000 lost. Posted about two months later, and the post reads as follows. Game over. I kept going back to recover big losses, and now I'm

I'm sitting here after literally four months exact. $200,000 missing. $75,000 of debt between credit cards and line of credit. Barely any money left except to survive. I have a family who doesn't know of this. Many of you know my story on here. I haven't told significant other, and she's on a trip with the young one. I thought I could take the opportunity to go back to the casino to recover,

but that didn't happen. Instead, I found myself pulling money from creditors to gamble, but just lost it all. I know my performance at work has been affected. I am a completely different person physically in the mirror. The stress has taken that smile and brightness. Fuck gambling. I am sick and I'm going to get better. This is day one and here's the plan.

Number one, use Helllock to pay off the expense of debt. Two, refinance the home for $100,000 when mortgage is up for renewal in August. Pay off the hell lock. Three, significant other and hope she can support my recovery instead of walking away. The news I understand will be a lot to stomach. Four, get healthy and back in shape. Five, cut down on spending slash eating out. Six, find a side hustle slash part-time job.

Seven, attend gamblers anonymous meetings if I can. I wish I could reverse that last four months. I can't, so now I'll spend the next decade trying to recover. My life is a wreck, and I cannot live like this any longer. And holy shit, this just keeps getting worse. He lost even more money. And still, he hasn't told his significant other or his family. I mean, he's just digging a deeper and deeper hole.

Not only financially, but what's... going to happen when his significant other finds out. She's going to be like, you haven't told me this for four months now? You've been hiding this behind your back for four months and you keep going back? I mean, I don't understand. I mean, obviously it is very shameful. It is very sad. But why doesn't the OP tell a significant other so she can help hold him accountable, if that makes sense? It's like, I would rather not go through this alone, but at the same time, I understand why I would be so shameful to even tell anyone, but still just wow. And the next post is titled, Self-excluded indefinitely day one.

Posted a few days later. He says, relapsed and couldn't stop. I put my life on the line. Thought about S-word and only thing holding me down to earth is my daughter. Wife and family, whom I let down. They don't have a clue as to what I have done. Number one, gambled away my own money and some inheritance. Two, picked up $70,000 debt.

Three, dipped into wife's account and took another $50,000. I am now walking out of this miserable place, the casino, that has taken everything from me mentally and financially in the last six months. $325,000 lost and same amount in prior years. I am 600 grand plus in losses, and there's only one way to stop. I have it in my hand a win today. Willpower, backed up by self-exclusion form banning indefinitely. Now, the truth must be told to my wife, and I need to protect my family from me. I don't know if I will have a family should my wife not be supportive, but at least I've done what I never thought I would do.

stop gambling guys nobody wins this industry will take you to your grave a lot faster than god and oh my god 600,000 dollars in debt Jesus Christ that is just I mean obviously a hundred grand is a lot of money that is a ton of money but 600 grand is just a different level. That is just, that is the level you'll have to be paying it off your entire life, especially if that's on high credit, high credit interest. I mean, oh my, oh my God, this is just getting worse and worse. And the OP makes another post a few months later, and the post is titled, told the wife, it's done. She now came out over phone because I was at work, bawled out like crazy, said sorry, she's pissed and not responding to text now, giving her some space. If I go home,

either she's there or gone, who knows. Work sucks right now. Want to get out ASAP, but can't yet. We'll be a hectic night, maybe limited convoy if there is one. I finally got this off my chest, and although nervous, I feel good because it was slowly killing me inside with depression and S-word thoughts. O-D-A-A-T, living with consequences of our actions. I suppose. And that's great he told his wife, but I'm very interested to see how this goes. And he makes a post two days later saying, Hey, all, I wanted to give you all an update on my full disclosure for many of you who have

seen my posts. Ultimate Rock Bottom is not money lost. It's trust. That's what I said earlier. For those of you that are single, you still lose trust. My wife, who I don't blame, has opened up to her family into mine. I feel humiliated, regretful, which this has never happened, but I also think it's for the betterment and recovery. Time will heal, but the healing has to start. For those who have yet to share

with family about your problems, do so. It's hard at first. Stress level rises 10,000 times in the moment, but in the end, it is what it is. Consequences of actions. I chose to be a better person. I finally got rid of this problem and all others that caused pain to loved ones. The years of respect I earned. Lost. I feel terrible, but I deserve this. Going to move on now and put the past behind me. News will spread like wildfire and humiliation will continue.

In the end, it is what it is as there's no rewining time, but change the future. Good luck. I'm proud to own my mistakes, and for me, that's a huge win. weight of the world off my chest. Say no to gambling. Become a winner once and for all. And then the OP makes a post titled 135 days gambling free. And the post reads as follows.

Hey everyone, haven't posted here for a very long time. 135 days gambling free. Here's how I did it. Lost $300,000 in six months. Went into serious regretfulness. depression and insane amounts of stress, came to Jesus and banned myself from all land-based casinos, this was step one to freedom, confessed everything to family. Step two. Went to hell and back because of it. Lost respect, trust, love, held on to marriage, but it was brutal. Starting to

came back. Step three. Luckily, work got very busy. kept my mind occupied, which helped out a great deal. I cannot forgive myself. Losses and pain. I've caused my loved ones. Bothers me all the time, but I don't think about wanting to ever go back to gambling again. Huge. Step four. Self-realization. Good luck to no gambling. And just, that's great. I mean, that is just great. A 135 days is huge. And that's great. He, you know, was able to go that long without gambling and was able to start gaining back the trust and love that he so deeply lost, and understandably so. But then the post makes an update about seven months later. And the title is, did it again need desperate advice? So much for a ban. Urged to reinstate and I did. I won $40,000 from $3,000, put it all back, plus 30,000 gradual losses of 5 to 6k

after putting back 20K the next day. $30,000 debt. No way to repay all the finances are handled by a significant other. What do I do? Last time was a family crisis. Now I have no choice but to turn to my parents again and say, bail me out like last time. The problem is the last time I should have learned my lesson.

I really don't know what to do. I can't tell anyone about this recent events or else I'm doomed and I will really, hurt my loved ones. If this comes out, however it may, I'm definitely getting divorced. I got a wife and kid who I don't want to lose. I want to tell my parents that I had this loan from the last event that turned my whole life upside down, but I fear this will put them through hell and back knowing how they can't trust me. I make good money, but can't use it now, that partner controls the finances. Your thoughts? How should I handle this? And just that is,

That is just so crushing how he went, it seems like seven months, and he just went back. That is just so, so crushing. And then he makes another post saying, Hit Rock Bottom again. It's over for me. Posted about a month later. And the post reads as follows, Hey, all, please stop gambling.

I relapsed and now with $40,000 debt and no way to reap. pay considering the situation I'm in where partner controls finances. I cannot let anyone know about this or it's going to be a huge problem. I just can't believe I put myself through this again. I don't even have money left from the last round of stupidity. No more access to loans and I've already borrowed from friends and family. Now I'm sitting with $500 in my account right now with bills on the way. This shit sucks so bad. I just wish I could do something bad to himself. This financial stress is so bad. I need help, but don't know if my partner will be so supportive this time if they find out.

And yeah, the OPEC got himself in deep shit again because he came clean with his significant other, his family, and they lost trust but supported him. And the second time around, obviously, is going to be a lot harder for them to support him. So he is in deep, deep shit. And then the OP makes a post again three weeks later saying anyone in relapse and tell their partner. The post reads, Struggling to find some courage to tell my spouse that I fucked up a second time and how miserable of a husband slash father I am. Worked so hard to dump our money to a casino.

I already got my ultimatum the last time after massive losses. Here I am again reliving the past except this time is all out debt only. my head is going to explode. I'm super stressed and I don't know what to do. Anyone tell their significant other of a relapse? And how did that go? And then it makes a post a few days later saying, if you're given a second chance but you relapse and out yourself through the same shit again, is this a calling to get help? And the post reads, maybe some of you read my post. I'm in devastating situation again and have no guts to share with anyone. I got a second chance. chance. Ban myself. Year later, same boat, and now badly in debt. I keep thinking what got me

to gambling. I work hard to earn the money, but money doesn't hold great value to me. Why? Well, I think I have an answer. Throughout my younger years, my pops never let me manage my finances. He always checked my accounts. Always wanted to be the one to manage. Always led me to believe what he got his mind one day. He's not rich. Just normal. I know. never felt in control and I never learned to manage well because it was just money, but I see young people now so cautious of their finances. I'm not sure if what I'm thinking is wrong. I really don't want to blame my parents, but I wish if I had the freedom to manage my earnings and expenses in my younger years, I wouldn't chase easy money. And I mean, I don't see a correlation

there, but who knows? I got a gambling problem. I admit it now. I need help, and I'm certainly devastated by the outcome. Debt upon my eyeballs. Earn good money, but people got bills to pay and need to survive, so irregardless, it's an unnecessary expense to have all these debt payments. Try to have my spouse manage the finances. Instead, I pulled out loans behind their back. Do I deserve a third chance? Or should this be it? Divorce and destruction. And I was curious about the comments on this post, and the only comment is, the only person you can blame is your yourself and it has three up votes. He's not going to allow help. This is just devastating. Then the O.P. says, help. Someone give me some courage to break the news and how to begin telling

people. How do I tell my wife about my relapse? This is killing me. How do I tell her that I broke her trust again? Put us again in a bad situation. This is crazy. This shit ruins lives, man. Here I am a grown-ass man crying like a wussy. Have no control, no realization to my actions can't do anything other than putting my loved ones in pain and suffering god i can't deal with this what do i do someone please give me advice god this is just this is getting emotion this is just crazy um then he says anyone here relapse and racked of six figure debt posted a few months later and then he says miserable looking for anyone who can relate and help with a solution and or advice Last year, terrible huge losses in the mid-six figs confessed and banned and returned to the devil.

Now using up all the great credit built up over many, many years, picked up $200,000 debt at pretty harsh interest from multiple bullshit places, life in complete turmoil, unhappy, depressed, mentally effed up, stressed to no end, regrets, unfaithfulness with spouse, fake smiles, hidden cries, you name it because, It's by far the worst list. Numb to value of money between four walls of the devil's house. Outside the reality hits hard. Now sitting back thinking, why did I do it? Approaching 40, which gives me the chills. Anyone relate? What do I do?

Can't phase a second confession. No heart or strength for that. And then the OP makes a post about two months later saying, Came clean the second time. Just confess to wife, heartbreak. Don't know what's going to happen now. I deserve any and all punishment again at this point. Couldn't avoid coming clean because the lies in double life I couldn't stand living no more.

I hope I come out stronger for our family. And then the OP post two weeks later saying relapse. Today, for the second time, I feel so humiliated again because of my relapse. Had my family walk out of the door and I'm here all alone. more than money. I lost love and I lost trust. Quit gambling, people.

And then the OPEE makes a final update. About two months later, titled, Ruin Myself and Lost Everything. In the post reads as follows, Wife Left with the Kid. Debt in over my head. Completely destroyed myself financially

because I'd have to sell my house or repay it. Once again, the house is won and we continue to think we can beat them. What I don't get is how I let this get to where it is without thinking of the consequences and to make it worse. I had ample time to dwell on repeat mistakes. What the hell is this rush?

It's the worst fucking drug in the world. This one not only ruins you, but also your family. Mentally, I'm a wreck. I only wish I could make it out on top. Restart at 40. That's where I've ended up. And then the OP just keeps making small posts and updates. And I read at one point he lost $1 million lost in a five-year span.

Jesus Christ. One million dollars lost. And he just keeps posting on how he's an attic and how he's alone and how his wife left him. And he has nothing left anymore. And yeah, his final comment ever on his profile, was, I can relate, but I'm not where you are yet. I truly wish I can think this way someday. Sooner than later, still processing the defeat.

Leave seven figures aside. Family gone. Home lost. Thanks for the post. Satisfied me knowing there is more to life than money. So it's pretty clear that the O.P. lost a million dollars, or up to a million dollars in that time, lost his family, and then lost his home.

This is truly one of the saddest spirals I have ever seen on Reddit. I've seen multiple kind of drug use spirals, but this is just a different level. I mean, he just lost hundreds or literally like he said, a million dollars. A million dollars to gambling. He lost his home. He lost his family. He lost fucking everything. And it's just so, so terrifying and sad and depressing.

and this was just one hell of a saga, if you can even call it that. I mean, this was over a year or so, like, of consistent posts, and just Jesus, guys. If any of you are watching with a gambling addiction, please reach out to Gamblers Anonymous. It will get better, but please, just stop gambling.

You will never beat the house, ever. I murdered someone. This happened a good number of years ago. At the time, I was a pretty, high-up drug dealer, moving a good number of ounces of H, crystal, and booger sugar. I wasn't El Chapo, but I had power, money, and respect. I had a girlfriend for a few years. She ended up getting pregnant, and a couple months after my first child was born, she left me. I was destroyed. At the time, I had a mental disorder that made this breakup unbearable, and I was a mental wreck,

and my anger was at an all-time high. There were groups of days where I'd be fine and not even feel the need to text her, but then there were times when I was so fucking angry because she left me. How could she leave me when I did so much for her? My anger would become uncontrollable, and when you have the drug dealer mentality,

it can get scary. I never laid a hand on that woman, but I found out she was hanging out with someone who was supposed to be a good friend of mine, and they started dating. I still remember the exact feeling of seeing a picture of my ex, my good friend, and my child altogether. I destroyed my entire house in a blacked outrage

and basically went off the deep end. The anger was uncontrollable. Something evil happened inside me, and I had to do it. One night, I decided to throw a party at a venue in town and invited said friend so I could talk to him. He was very hesitant at first, but I told him I wanted to just make men's, and we could all get along. He came through when we sat down and talked. I acted real good to him, and I had him fooled that everything was okay.

I asked him if he wanted to go out back and do some great booger sugar, and he agrees. What he didn't know was that this wasn't just booger sugar. It was a 50-50 cut of booger sugar and fent. He fell out almost instantly. after doing a decent-sized line. We were in a pretty discreet location, so I took about seven minutes before I went inside and yelled for someone to call 911.

By the time the ambulance got there, he was dead. I put the bag of booger sugar in his pocket before coming back inside and getting the ambulance. I told the police that he asked if I wanted to go out to the backyard and do booger sugar, and I agreed. He did the first line and fell out, and that's all I knew. I didn't know what happened. Nobody ever thought anything of it to pass that,

and I was never hassled after that about the situation. End of story. In one of the top comments on this post, someone says, hand yourself in, and the OP gives a cold no. Very disturbing. Stole over a million from an employer

and was rewarded for it. I posed to this elsewhere, thought you would enjoy it here. If you've read it before, I hope you enjoy it again. Disclaimer. The names and some of the situations have been changed to protect the identities, mostly my own, but the dollars and general nature of the situation is completely true. Some background. A year out of school in the early 1990s, I procured a job as a business analyst for a large family-owned tech company. This business was located. in the booming heart of technology at the time and was very profitable.

As tech took off over the next decade, the company thrived and remained family owned. What was a rich family, and company became exceedingly wealthy with a valuation slash net worth in the high nine slash low 10 figures. The family that owned it was quite neurotic, very moody, and had a reputation as very ruthless, greedy when it came to financing, deal-making, employees, etc. And I truly believe this is what held them back from ultimately becoming a household name as a company. As I progressed in the company, I gained more and more face time with the owners. I worked on some projects directly with the ownership that really paid off and gained me even greater access to their inner circle.

Now, like a lot of people at the time, and particularly those who worked in tech, I was heavily invested in tech stocks. I discussed some of my investments and gains with ownership as casual conversation, though investing had nothing to do with my role in the company. That is until one day, in late 1999, when the company came to me and asked me if I would invest some of my personal money. He wanted me to take big risks to see if they would pay off using $1 million of his personal money. I was a bit hesitant, but still being in my late 20s and wanting to prove

myself, I said I would. I asked for a written agreement where they acknowledged this wasn't my role in the company was a personal matter between the owner and me, and to document my compensation for this side arrangement, 20% of all profits. Around this time, and by working in the industry, I start to notice the weakness associated with a lot of tech company. They just weren't living up to their hype and stock price, and some seemed like they were starting to run out of money. I had no inside information, just a strong sense of which companies were struggling based on my work in the business. Based on this sense, I started using both my money and the owner's money to short tech companies just after the new year in 2000. For anyone unfamiliar with shorting, it means if the value of a stock decreases, the value of the stock decreases, the

value of the investment increases. I had a few long positions, but my overall position was very short. Since the owner wanted big risk and big reward, I used his money and obtained leverage or margin from the financial institution where I managed both his and my trading accounts. The accounts are separate, but both under my name, again, I documented this and gained consent. Well, both my account and his suffered some moderate losses in the first two months of 2000. before the bubble began to burst in both accounts, but his and particular began to skyrocket. Ownership's petting this.

In June, the company began to suffer a downturn. We were so profitable, but since we provided tech services and products, we were not immune to weakness in the broader market. I had not informed me the owner of my short strategy. He came to me one day and asked how his money was doing, saying he suspected it was way down like the general. market. To his surprise, I informed him that while we still had some money tied up in options, puts and shorts, but based on the positions I had closed, there was $1.35 million in cash

sitting in the account that belonged to him. Again, I still had a bunch of open positions, which, if memory serves, were worth about a million on that date. But the positions I had closed had yielded $1.35 million in cash just sitting in his account, which was in my number. name. The owner, either through ignorance or lack of attention, said, great, 1.35 million. Fantastic work in this down market. Will you please wire it to me? I responded that I would, but would be taking my 20% of the $350,000 profit or $70,000, before wiring him the $280,000. I also reminded him, I still had open positions that had yet to pay off or close, but I didn't didn't state the amount. He, once again, appeared not to understand or comprehend the open

position statement, but instead totally focused on and became interested about my rightful claim for $70,000. He went on and on about how times were tough, I should be grateful for a job, particularly at my young age, and the entire $350,000 was necessary for him and the company. I knew this wasn't true based on my position within the company. Worse, this was my first time personally experiencing the greedy and corrupt nature that served as the basis for ownership's reputation. The revenge. Now comes the revenge. Since after two separate conversations, the owner didn't seem to grasp that the open positions would yield at least some income and thus additional profit,

I decided not to mention it again. I sent him back the entire $1.35 million and continued to manage the open positions to the best of my ability. And here's the kicker. The owner never brought it up again. He seemed to think the $1.35 million payment was the entire value of the account and never understood or remembered that open positions still existed. He never asked for records, taxed, documents or any time or audit of financials. Given the fact that he was dishonest with me, I didn't feel the need to disabuse him of that notion. Ultimately, after a bit more net gain, I covered all of the shorts and exercised all of the options, puts in this case, for an additional $1.8 million. I worked for the company for three more years and the owner never asked about it

during my tenure, after I gave notice or cents. I know it's a bit crass and even shady AF, but given his dishonesty with me over the $70,000, I felt justified in keeping the additional $1.8 million. I paid taxes on the gain, long-term capital gain, and went on my way with a fantastic nest egg. Nobody has asked about it since, and I've only told the story to a few people. and even then only after the Statue of Limitations passed. The final ironic cherry on top of this Sunday is that during my remaining three years, I gained greater influence of the ownership and position within the company because they considered me loyal for giving the $1.35 million back

and not making too much of a stink about the $70,000 profit. Little did they know I got the better of them. The company eventually folded due to family disputes, but my understanding is that the ownership walked away in a very good financial position. They likely could have been a much better and greater company had they not practiced the same dishonesty that they showed me with their vendors, clients, and employees. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. I am not proud of my son.

This Saturday, my son will have been sober for 18 months. He got his GED this year and he started to start. at Community College at the end of August. He finally has a job that I didn't get for him. Soon he'll be moving into his own apartment and he hasn't missed a single appointment with his therapist. He has done everything you would expect of a precocious 17-year-old who hit a rough patch after meeting with a particularly bad influence. He is 29. This is the point where I'm supposed to say that. Nevertheless, I'm still proud of him for turning his life around. getting off drugs and off the streets, staying out of trouble, and acting like a responsible adult,

or at least an adult who knows the meaning of responsible. Maybe I'll throw in a reference to the prodigal son and kill a fatted calf for him. That's certainly what's expected of me. That's certainly what my son expects of me. He demands praise and forgiveness and a party in me to hug him and tell him he's all right, demands me to tell him how proud I am that he's made something of himself. But I'm not, because he hasn't. Not in the slightest.

His mother and I gave him every opportunity we could. I don't expect any praise for that, because unlike my son, I don't expect praise for doing what you're supposed to. She and I worked hard to give him a loving, stable, comfortable, supportive home. We were involved in his school. We introduced him to music to the extent that any way. many two people can. His mother was a damn good sellus, though. And sports and culture. We fed him healthy meals. We played with him. Thanks to him. We got in the best shape we'd ever been in since our

20s. And we let him stumble and fall and make mistakes and get back up again. He started shoplifting at 15. The first time we caught him. We bodily dragged him back to the store, made him return the copy of Grand Theft Auto and apologized, and offered to pay for any damages. The second time we caught him this time with a pair of shoes, we did the same thing. The third time, we started going to family therapy. Therapy seemed to go well, and after a few sessions, the therapist asked for a few one-on-one meetings with them. After two of those, the police came knocking on our door.

Because the little shit had concocted some story about how we were a religious cult who R-worded him for breakfast every Saturday, and the dumb chicken shit therapist actually believed him. Rational heads prevailed, and we fired that therapist. and he went through six more in as many months, until eventually we couldn't find anyone who would take him as a patient. By 16, he was drinking. Then we found pot in his bedroom and in our bedroom.

He started leaving needles and other sort of drug paraphernalia where he knew we'd eventually find them, just to fuck with us. I know this because he said so, in those exact words. He had his first intervention and first trip to rehab that year and his first relapse. He had to repeat a year high school at 17, which meant he was now the ringleader of a group of other young dipshits, who saw him as the Totemic Mentor Shaman who could hook them up with whatever shit they wanted. I'm also damn sure he started hooking up with one of the gang's younger sisters who was very young around then,

but I had nothing to go on but my own instincts. So all I could do was tell her parents to keep an eye on her. No charges were ever pressed, and the family never spoke to me again after that, they did pull both of their kids out of the school, and my son was furious at me for daring to not let him continue committing statutory R-word. He decided to try for normal R-word later on while I was away. He spent an uncharacteristic night at home and on his best behavior. After his mother went to sleep, he followed her into her bedroom, he took a knife with him, he crept into the room, straddled her, put the blade to her throat, and slid his other hand to do something to her.

And I'm sure you can fill in the blink, but it's horrible. I don't know exactly what happened next. I know he held her down and tried to undress her. I know she fought. I know he stabbed her. I know she got away and locked herself in the bathroom before he could catch her. I hope that means she kicked him good at the balls. I know she broke the window and screamed for help. I know he ran. I know she was lucky the ambulance got to. to her before she blooded to death. I know he called his friends to brag and beg a ride. I know the police caught him. I know if I'd been home, or if I'd caught him, I'd have killed him with my bare hands. The state tried my son as an adult. He pled out, but only after making his mother testify

and smiling the whole time. She divorced me a month after his sentencing. I looked too much like him. She committed S-word a year later. I would be a liar if I said I didn't blame him for her death because I absolutely do. He was sober when he went into a room, sober when he pulled out his knife, sober when he climbed on top of her, sober when he R-worded her, sober when he stabbed her,

sober when he ran, sober when he called his friends to brag, and sober when the police found him. When I made the mistake of visiting him after the divorce, he laughed and said she'd had enough of his dick that I could never satisfy her. When I made the mistake of visiting him after she committed S-word, he laughed again and asked how it felt to have some guy take your bitch away. I should have killed him right there.

It is to my eternal shame that I did not. They lit him out after serving three years. He spent the next six years on the streets, in and out of rehab, on and off other people's couches, and would grace me every six months or so with a phone call demanding money. Eventually, I refused to talk to him unless it was to drive him back to. rehab. And I stopped completely after he stole my wallet. Two years ago, he came to my house with his aunt, his mother's sister, in tow and crocodile tears in his eyes. He pretended to apologize. I slammed the door. His aunt barges in to try to shame me into forgiving the man who R-worded

my wife, caused her death, and laughed about. He stayed outside. He slashed my tires, threw a brick through a window, and drove off in her car. His aunt had no idea that he'd taken his key. He, or that he'd been armed the whole time. She blamed me. He guilted her into letting him stay with her, went to rehab and relapsed, and then went again, and here we are. In stark contrast to the ball of shit

that is my son in his life, I have watched my friends and colleagues, those who will still talk to me, that is, children go on to become doctors, lawyers, skilled tradesmen, actors, and musicians, academics, entrepreneurs, and career military. I've seen a few, you start of their own families, and even the ones who've had a rough start, or who stumbled

and fell, managed to pick themselves up again, or are bravely soldiering on. I have nothing but respect for them. I also note that they do not expect juice and a fucking cookie for having a job and not getting hopped up on crystal or artworking their mothers for 18 whole months. My son has pretended to reform before. He has even convinced himself once or twice, but he always backslop. always relapses, always finds new ways to disappoint, always hurts other people for his own short-sighted belief. His aunt is already at the stage where she's pretending she must have forgotten, where she puts some knick-knack or piece of jewelry, and has already told me to fuck off after I've warned her of what my son can, will, and has done before, and what he will do again now that he

thinks she is weak. When he fucks up again, when he hurts someone else with his ceaseless bullshit, I will not be there to pick up after him. I'm through with him. I'm through with his aunt. I cannot talk to her without being overcome with rage and shame as I see the stupid, stupid hope I used to have that my son would ever amount to anything. And I do not need any more disappointment and failure in my life. I am not proud of my son. I'm sorry for inflicting him upon the world. I killed someone today, and nothing feels like it's the right thing to do. 19 hours ago, 2 a.m. where I live, I was driving on the freeway and a motorcyclist lost control of the vehicle,

and I arrived at the scene just as the police did. There wasn't a normal warning where the police weave from one side of the highway to the other to warn of a crash. One second I saw police lights, the very next second I saw a body in the road. There wasn't enough time for me to evade or avoid, and I drove over the motorcyclist. He is dead. Everything since has just felt something I should be doing. After the police told me I was to go,

I couldn't, and they ended up calling a crisis therapist to convince I was allowed to leave. But I couldn't just go home after the realization that there were pieces of a person on my car. car. I couldn't just go home and leave parts of a human being to deal with afterwards. So the therapist and officer told me I should go to a car wash. But that felt, well, I still don't know how that felt to be honest, but it felt like the less wrong thing to do, so I agreed. Somehow, in my shock, I had convinced myself that this is just something that happened to me

and I'd be okay once everything was over. But once I started the car wash, Everything I convinced myself of just fucking crumbled. My plan that I'd be all right crumbled. My thoughts of I can manage the situation crumbled. I crumbled. The entire time I was physically washed my car, I was uncontrollably bawling my eyes out. The thought that this piece here once was a part of a person

and I'm just washing it off as though it used to be a bug, broke me. After getting home and sleeping the, little bit I could, everything just feels wrong. My one-year-old making me smile at how loving she is felt wrong. My fiancé consoling me and trying to distract me felt wrong. Being able to pet my dogs felt wrong. Me not being on the side of the road and not being stuck forever to that spot of road feels wrong. Existing at this very moment feels so indescribably wrong. All day my family has been bombarding my phone trying to reach out, but I just can't handle being asked how I'm

doing again. I feel wrong, and I can't even explain how wrong is an emotion, but wrong is all I can say. My mom tried to force me to go to an aviary with my family, but again, everything is wrong. The person I killed will never go to an aviary, so how can I just go like nothing happened? This was probably not the best thing I did today, but I just looked at my car and noticed all of the damage I didn't look close enough to see earlier this morning during the car wash. And I froze just unable to move, unable to reconcile my feelings or thoughts, and everything just hit like I wash back at the car wash. And again, I just stood there sobbing uncontrollably.

I don't know what to do. Everyone I've tried to talk to, family, therapist, police officers, all are telling me I did the best I could and try to help me cope. But right now at this moment, They are wrong. Everything is just wrong. And now let's get into the comments. And the top comment on this post is actually, I think, very informational

and could be of use for everyone watching if you're ever in a horrible situation like the OP just listed and just told us about. But let's get into the comment. Someone says, this is going to sound like an insensitive troll post, but I swear it's not. Right now, if you're ruminating over what happened, your brain is hard coding the memories,

and that could lead to PTSD. The way to stop this from happening is to download a copy of Tetris and start playing it to take your mind off of it. It will interfere with what your brain is trying to do and will greatly reduce your chance at getting PTSD from this. I'm not kidding. You can read about it here. And then the commenter lists a study.

And then they continue saying, What happened was awful, but it doesn't need to haunt you forever. And then they continue saying, people are asking if it has to be Tetris or if any other games will work. I'm not an expert, but I think Tetris is the perfect game for this because no two games are alike. The rules are understood immediately. Its core mechanic is two-dimensional image rotation that forces you to envision something other than the traumatic images. And there's a time limit on your thinking. There's no time to ruminate because the next piece is already on its way.

Classic Tetris can't be won, only lost. So, it has a time. a natural hook to continue playing. And I just thought that was so interesting and also just a great kind of piece of information for everyone watching, if God forbid something this horrible happens to you, it's a way to reduce the likelihood of PTSD is by plane Tetris, which is very, very interesting. And honestly, a lot of people in the comments do say help them because it's supposedly recommended by some therapists immediately after something traumatic happens, which I've never heard of, before, but seems kind of legit. I mean, it kind of makes sense. It just takes your mind off of it,

and your brain won't, like the commenter said, hard code the images into your brain, so you're less likely to get PTSD. Very interesting. And then the OP even replies to this saying, Thank you, downloaded the game last night after falling to sleep. I believe the game allowed my brain to stop replaying the images enough to where I was able to sleep for at least three hours. And yeah, I just, what happened to the OPE is just so unlucky. and horrible. I mean, it's not the O.P.'s fault that they were driving down the road at that time when the motorcycle fell off or was laying in the road. I mean, it's just horrible. And it's just a complete, just freak accident. And it's not the O.P.'s fault to have to endure this pain and this, you know,

mental toll. And now let's get into one more comment because these comments are very good at, you know, telling the O.P and just in general how to process traumatic experiences. So this person says, as someone who has killed intentionally at war and sent people to die, I can tell you that it is perfectly okay to not be okay. You are going to have feelings that will sometimes feel overwhelming. The important thing is to feel them. Be angry at yourself. Be angry at the world.

Most of all, it is okay to be angry at the motorcyclist. You will feel all of this at different times. And you know what? That is okay too. This is a process and it will take time. Just don't shut down, trying to, Push these feelings away will do irreparable harm to you. All of the feelings are valid in their own time.

Guilt will kill you slowly or fast, but it will kill you. Accept what you have done and find the grace to eventually forgive yourself. It is not going to be easy, but keep talking and keep feeling. And people keep saying talking is very important. And I just think what the two things we just read were very interesting. And it could be just some good information. to keep in the back of your mind if you ever experience something traumatic. Tetris after something can help your brain process it and not really remember it as well, which I guess is good.

And kind of confronting the feelings and confronting the thoughts is also good. Don't try to push it away because I think it'll rear its ugly head eventually. But this is just a horrible situation that the OPE had to go with or deal with. And I mean, not really confession, but kind of. I mean, the OPE killed someone, but it's just not the OPE's fault at all. Just such a freak accident that's so, so horrible. Viewer submitted confession. Hey, Snook, I'd like to remain completely anonymous for this, and I appreciate you understanding. A few years ago, I worked for a moving company and took a lot of pride in my job. I was reliable, consistent, and put in the effort to the point where I was being considered for a promotion. There were two of us in line for it, myself and a

another employee, who I referred to as M. Around the time their promotion was discussed, I became aware that M was an undocumented worker and that the company owner was paying him under the table. This put me in an uncomfortable position, as it involved both employment practices and immigration laws. After giving it some thoughts, I reported the situation to the appropriate authorities. A few days later, M was no longer working at the company. He left quietly. Without explanation, explanation, and that was the last I heard of him. Not long after, I was offered the promotion. No one at the company knew that I had made the report, and I never spoke about it. From a legal standpoint, I followed the proper process. Still, it's a situation I think about from time to time,

not out of regret for following the law, but because of the human impact decisions like that can have. I hope M is doing well and was able to find proper stability elsewhere. Thank you for reading this, Snook. You do a lot for your community, and it doesn't go unnoticed. Hello, Snook. I've recently came across your page in my hunt for answers to my dilemma. I'm not sure where to start with this, but here it goes. I'm currently 29, turning 30 in June and from the UK.

My life just now is going well. I own a house, which many would not be. able to obtain at this age, alongside a good-looking partner. In M5, I own outright, rare here, and a high-position job at a British weapons manufacturer slash defense contractor. I am in no way ostentatious, but I know that I am very much better off compared to my peers. I believe the reason for this is that I am a diagnosed psychopath. I currently take antipsychotics to relieve the urges of my youth, which I lie to my spouse about being epilepsy medication to cover up when she picks up prescriptions for me. I've done things that people

would consider horrific to people because of these urges. So much so, I was convicted of grievous bodily harm, or G-B-H and S-A at the age of 10. I want to clarify that it wasn't for a desire but for power over the person. I also got away with many things due to them being difficult to prove, or that I knew to cover my tracks, so to speak. I was deemed unfit for trial by a psychiatrist and was sent to a mental institution, where I spent nine months before being released with a lifetime requirement for medication. After release, I understood that although this is how I feel, I need to act like a chameleon and create a life for myself, one in which I could probably get away with things in the future. Thankfully, we moved town just in time for the start of secondary school, so it was a lot

easier to confine previous me to the history books. I've always been one of the smartest or the smartest in the room wherever I go. I got the best grades out of my many classes and got a one-one master's degree in business development from one of the most prestigious universities in Scotland. Again, this is not a brag, and I don't usually discuss this type of thing. I'm just being blunt with facts as I feel I have to. I've kept the same friends since high school who do not know anything about my previous behavior

or my current fantasies. I keep them around so I can control them and they look up to the persona I've fabricated. I must say I've never loved someone in the way others talk about it. I keep people as extensions of myself or as someone I can depend on. The only person I have an affection to is my mom and I believe that is through a slight uneasy feeling.

I have caused she's the remaining person who remembers the real me who's still around me. I met my current girlfriend eight years ago through university. She is visually stunning, and I found to be easily manipulated into doing what I want and her opinions could be molded. I feel having a good-looking woman around my waist made me look good to others.

However, I found that the better-looking they are the harder they are to manipulate, so she is perfect for me. Recently, she started working with one of the boys, that was in my primary school class, who I know has told her about the things I've done. Her demeanor continues to worsen towards me as the months go by, and I can now genuinely feel her fear. I thought of what I could do with him,

but it'd be too suspicious at this point. If the full extent of the things I did came to light to my girlfriend, my friends, my work, my professional network will end. Everything I have built will crumble to nothing. I know my friends and family won't be able to look at me. I have the second high security clearance level available, and I can see that revoked if my childhood record was exposed.

I will lose everything I've earned. My house, car, the lot if it can be proven. I think the part that really angers me is that I slipped up. Either through complacency or arrogance, I feel I have let him get the better of me by allowing him to say what I've done with no rebuttal or repercussions until now. So to conclude, I'm asking what you think is the best approach.

I know she will ask soon, and my primary tactic I believe is damage control. If I admit to the bullying, I can deny the more severe actions and chalk it up to him wanting revenge or jealousy. Worst case, I may lose her and the house, but I will keep my minions in my job. I said we would never marry, so she can only be entitled to have to. the house and not my car, pension, or private possessions at least. Regards. Scott.

And all right, Scott, there is a lot to unpack here. Yeah, a lot to unpack here. I just think it's very odd the way you refer to many things, such as your girlfriend as more of an object than a person or your girlfriend. You say, worst case, I may lose her and the house, but I will keep my minions. minions, I can only assume to be kind of your coworkers or the people that you kind of manage. I think that's another very odd thing to say. I just think you mentioned things in such an odd way, in such a self-centered way and narcissistic way, in all honesty.

I mean, you're just, it's all me, me, me, this is going to happen to me. I did this, but I'm trying to figure out damage control. If I were you or my advice to you, I don't think you should continue. you lying to everybody. I mean, you're already seeing it. It's going to slip through the cracks eventually. I think you should just actually be honest. I think you should be honest with your girlfriend and say, this is what I did when I was younger. I'm sorry, and that's who I am. And stop lying to her. Stop lying to your girlfriend. Stop lying to your job. And stop lying to to everybody in your life. It will only continue to get worse if you keep lying in building your

entire life on a lie. I've read more than enough stories on people who have built their entire lives and they've gotten away with it for decades, but they've built their entire life for decades on lies. And guess what? It all comes crumbling down eventually. And that is the truth. If you're not honest and straightforward, then it's going to bite you in the ass all the time. And I mean, you're just so worried about yourself all the time. And you're kind of like in the beginning, you even said it wasn't a brag, but that's a very. odd thing to mention. You're like, I'm the smartest person in the room. I'm always the smartest. I know this thing. I know how to manipulate my girlfriend. I know how to do this and do that.

I just find it very, very weird and honestly, just super self-centered and narcissistic. You did admit to being on antipsychotics, which I think is good. Although, I think if you are up to it, I mean, kind of knowing this personality type, you probably won't be up to it, but getting therapy and getting help. Because I think you need to you kind of break down all these barriers you've built around yourself. I mean, you've built up so many mental barriers like you can't trust anybody. You don't love your girlfriend. You don't like this or that. I think you seem to really like your house and car because you're so worried about losing the material possessions. We don't care about the

true connections with your people around you or your co-workers and you mentioned them as minions. And yeah, I mean, to be honest, you asked me what your best approach is. And I I think your best approach is being honest. Don't try to damage control. And you even said, I can deny the more severe actions and chalk it up to him wanting revenge or jealousy. So you're just building it up even more. Like, then you're just going to cause more issues and more, like, you have a record

on yourself because you went to juvenile detention and you got in trouble. He's going to be able to get that eventually or somebody will. And see, like, you're just, like, this just won't work out if you keep lying and keep building your life upon lies upon lies. Tell your girlfriend the truth. Say you fucked up when you're younger. I mean, that was years and years and years ago. That's not you now.

And you can move on to become a better person. But if you keep kind of going back to the same tactics of lying and deception and manipulation, then you're never going to become a better person and then get out of that kind of, that vicious cycle of people finding out the lies you've told them, if that makes sense. And so I think your best approach is to be completely honest with your girl. girlfriend because she's going to find out eventually. And I mean, the genie is out of the bottle, so to speak. She knows that you did something when you're younger.

And now she is going to do as much research as she possibly can about it. She's going to ask family. She's going to ask friends. She might ask your mom. She might ask, you know, a friend of the friend who's, quote, unquote, snitching on you. And so the genie is out of the model. And I think it is best case in narrow to be completely honest. And maybe take this as a learning lesson and kind of a pivotal point.

to be honest here on out and try to view people as people and not minions or your kind of property almost. I mean, you said, oh, my girlfriend is perfect because she's at my waist all the time and she follows me around and she's a pretty face. I really think you need to work on a lot of facets of your life because, yeah, this confession just was all over the place and filled with things that need to be talked about. But to keep this short as short as it can, Yeah, just try to be honest and try to be a better person because what you're doing now will not work out. My sister is mentally ill, and I wish she would just die already. Hi, Snook, this might be a long one, so sorry in advance.

I have a few major things in my life I could talk about, but this is probably one of the most entertaining, I guess. I recently stumbled across your YouTube channel and got hooked, so I thought maybe I could share something and get it off my chest. Obviously, I'd like this to say anonymous and do with it what you will. My sister is bipolar and schizophrenic. She is mentally very unwell and keeps having children. I currently have five nieces and one nephew from three different fathers. One of them is a stoner who sells drugs.

One is in jail for murder. He also threatened my mom and said he would throw acid on her face. And another is an alcoholic who has three or more R-word allegations against him. As you can guess, none of them are present in the children's lives. The worst part is that my mom has custody of most of the kids. And many of them have difficulties. One has ADHD and autism. one has an 18-month developmental delay, and another also has autism.

For some context, I live with my Spanish dad in Spain. My mom is English and stayed in England. I left because I was sick of everything and had a terrible childhood. So I moved in with my dad. My sister is older than me and has a different dad, and that's where a lot of her issues come from. Her father was Middle Eastern. I can't remember exactly where from. He forced my mom to convert to his religion and basically treated her like a slave. When my sister was a child, she was repeatedly abused and R-worded by her dad and her uncles.

A few years later, my mom had me with my dad in Spain, and I had a relatively normal childhood until I was about five or six. When my parents split up, I'm surprised I remember so much from that time because I was so young. But I remember getting along well for my sister back then. When my parents separated, I moved to England with my mom and my sister. I don't think my sister even remembered what had happened to her until later on. In England, she got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Started smoking weed, taking drugs, and getting into trouble. From that point on, I felt like she wasn't the same person.

anymore. She completely changed. When everything seemed to be going well, at least from the perspective of a six or seven-year-old, everything suddenly turned. I left England and moved back to Spain when I was 13. Over the years, my sister was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, and she has had three psychotic episodes. From what I understand, each one can cause serious damage and reduced cognitive function. She goes on and off her medication. When she's on it, she's like a piece of furniture, glued to her phone and completely disconnected from the kids and everyone else.

When she's off it, she becomes unstable again and ends up getting pregnant. It's honestly insane. She's driving my mom to the brink, and most of the family wants nothing to do with her anymore. I feel powerless because I'm in Spain and can't really do anything to help. Sometimes, I just wish she would drop dead so everyone could finally live their lives in peace. I especially feel bad for the kids, because they must be traumatized by all of her episodes. I know it's not really her fault.

She had a horrible childhood that left her deeply traumatized and mentally scarred for life, but at the same time, I also had a terrible childhood. because of everything that happened around her. And I don't go around causing that kind of trouble. I know she probably isn't capable of thinking the way most people do. But it's still incredibly frustrating because all she seems to do is cause pain for everyone around her. Recently, during her last pregnancy, doctors said that both she and the baby almost didn't make it. They warned that if she got pregnant again, either she or she,

or the child might die. And the only thought that crossed my mind was, well, in a couple of months, I might have to catch a flight for my sister's funeral. Am I wrong for thinking like that? She isn't the sister I used to know. It feels like the sister I had died years before, before I moved to Spain.

Even while typing this out, I feel nothing for her. Honestly, I believe my family back there would probably be better off without her. I don't want to ramble too long and drag it out so any questions, feel free to ask. Let me know if you use this and thanks for your videos. It makes me feel like I'm not the only one in the world with a twisted mind. Lots of love, bro. I killed my own mother.

My mother was an evil person. Long ago, corrupted by some form of mental illness. beyond the typical annoying mom stuff. She had a cruel streak that is extremely hard to explain. On more than one occasion, I saw her physically attack children, animals, and even her own elderly parents while they were still alive. I moved away from my mother at the age of 10. And for the decade that followed, I tried to be a good son.

I would visit a few times each year and call at least once a week. During this time, she degenerated from an alcoholic to a hard drug user, eventually finding religion and becoming born again. But despite her newfound faith, she remained just as cruel as ever. For her, God was a vengeful being, bent on revenge and punishment. In her twisted worldview, Jesus had no problem with cruelty, so long as we were faithful. faithful to what exactly? I don't know. When I was in my early 20s, I went to visit my mother, and we ended up going for a long drive together. We hadn't planned anything, but we ended up in the mountains about an hour west of town and decided to go for a hike like we used to. She was actually

in a rather pleasant mood that day, and I had some important news to share. I was about to become a father myself. After an hour or so a hiking and talking about this news, we stopped at a little plateau to admire the view. The ledge was next to a steep drop-off, offering an incredible view of the Rockies behind us. It was like something out of a National Geographic special. I suggested we take a photo of ourselves, and she agreed. I set up my camera hanging from a dead tree and aimed it using the strap so that the view would be behind us. I set the timer for 60 seconds and walked back towards the edge of the cliff. I smiled for the camera and gestured for my mother to join me. She did. A moment later, a green light blinked at us and something inside me

activated. Something that had been there all along. Something that is still deep inside me now. Without hesitation, I turned and shoved her off the edge of the plateau as hard as I could. I watched her eyes glow with fierce rage as her neck snapped forward. She stumbled for a step or two and then toppled over, over the edge. It was so surreal. She looked like wily coyote. I laughed. Not at her pain, just the absurdity of the situation.

and just like the wily coyote from the cartoons, she was silent. The only sound was the snapping of pine branches and the chirps of frightened birds. I calmly hiked down and around, towards where the body was. As I approached, I could hear a soft gurgling,

and I was amazed to find her still alive, partially impaled on a stump. I'm no doctor, but there was a lot of blood. My guess is that she punctured a lung because she couldn't talk. She could only drool blood and gurgle at me. I pulled out my cell phone. No bars. I wanted to stay and watch or die.

But I knew the time had come to act rationally again. I hiked towards the car at a double pace and called 911 as soon as I found some reception again. The operator had a sweet southern draw. and asked me if I knew where I was. Of course I did. I had hiked these mountains a thousand times. She said authorities were on their way, and I knew I had an hour at least.

I rushed back to the body, but it was too late. She had already died. I didn't touch the body. I didn't move her. I wanted to make sure I had a few questions to answer as possible. To get to the quick, the death was rude, ruled an accident. And I was never charged with anything. My mother was a piece of shit. So no one else really cared that she died. And no one had reason to suspect me.

The sorrowful grieving son who had come to visit his mother like a good little boy of anything. I never even took a polygraph. No one asked me to. So why am I telling this to you? R slash confession? I'll tell you why. Just a few minutes ago, my son, who is now in the fourth grade, was sent home from school early for brawling, and he came home to find me here in my home office, working, as I usually do.

Eager to change the subject, he grabbed a photo that I leave on my desk and asked me about it. I grabbed it back away from him and sent him off to his room. But after sitting here, and just staring into this photo for a while, I felt the need to share. After all, it is one of my favorite photos. I look so happy. Hell, even mom looks happy.

Something I can't explain happened to me, and it's destroying my life. I'm not crazy. I don't, have never, and will never use drugs, not. even pot. I haven't drank since college, and even then it was just with my girl because she was a partier. I am by all means sane, or at least I was before something bizarre and terrifying happened to me early morning during the summer of 2022. I have told nobody about this, not a damn soul. If I even mention it to anybody, they would immediately question my mental state. This throwaway account is the only place this story will be. I'm only typing this out on my cell phone because I need

some relief for this turmoil in my head. Every time someone mentions secrets, anything paranormal, or even, you'll never believe what I saw, my blood runs cold. I get goosebumps and my eyes tear up. I'm a prison in my own mind. And I hope, beyond hope, posts my story here, somehow calms this situation I have going on. If it helps someone else, so be it. But I'll be honest. I'm writing this for me. I'm uncomfortable with talking about this not because I'm a skeptic, but because I know beyond any shred of a doubt that something paranormal happened to me. The backstory. My car registration was not paid up because my state said they will not be penalizing drivers through the pandemic. registration is very expensive in the state, and my hours had naturally been cut during the pandemic,

so I opted to not pay it. Well, my apartment management did not agree, and decided to put a notice on my windshield that having expired tags is a violation of the lease agreement, and cars with expired tags will be towed at the owner's expense, and residents will face possible eviction for repeated violations. Completely insane eviction reasons aside, I couldn't afford my car being towed if I couldn't afford paying the reggie in the first place. So I opted to park my car at my parents' house, just two blocks away from my place. This made it an easy morning walk to get to my car and drive to work, which was also nearby. I made this walk for months. The walk was nice and my mom would drive me home. Don't judge me. My mom is awesome, and she was happy to spare me from the 100-plus-degree summer heat.

The route I had to walk took me behind their house. Their backyard was one of those city-maintained cinderblock walls with a major road right on the other side. One morning, I was making the walk, and I randomly got the idea to hop the wall to save myself five minutes of walking. I wasn't in a hurry. I gave myself plenty of time. This is an odd choice since the wall isn't super sturdy, and it is very tall and rough. Without second-guessing, the choice I grabbed the top of the wall, put my foot on it, and hurtled right up and over in one motion. I even surprised myself with how athletic of a move it was.

I started walking to the house and something stopped me dead in my tracks. A fucking gnome. Yes, a fucking gnome. You're probably... rolling your eyes and smirking right now. But I'm dead serious. I don't know how else to describe it. It was about a foot tall and walking around like it was patrolling the area. It was not human like at all. It acted almost like a bug or a robot. It had a little spear-like tool with it, and its action seemed deliberate and dutiful. What's really fucked is that I could feel its thoughts.

Not telepathy, but I could just feel that it was aware I could see it. While I absolutely froze with fear, it opened its mouth and silently screamed to some unseen comrades. It wasn't scared of me, but it was absolutely going apeshit about the fact I could see it. I stood there, totally frozen, and unable to move while its lower jaw, just silently rattled back and forth, still howling silently. Its fear turned into frustration, and suddenly I was back on the other side of the wall, walking about a minute before I was behind my parents' house and decided to make the jump.

I was fully aware of what happened, and I still could feel my heart in my ears. I just kept walking. I passed their backyard, completely terrified of what was just on the other side of the wall. I just kept walking. tears were streaming down my face as I made the only turn to the small connecting street and another right into the street which I grew up on. I just kept walking. I thought about waking my parents up and telling them what I saw.

I contemplated going to the backyard and grabbing a shovel and looking for that little alien gnome fucker. But instead, I dutifully and automatically pulled my keys from my pocket and calmly opened the car door, started the engine, and drove off toward work like I always did. I got to work at 545, 15 minutes before my shift started. I wanted to stay in my car and call my wife to cry to her and beg her to tell me it was a dream or a hallucination or something. I was beside myself. But instead I just got out of the car and walked inside to make a cup of coffee like I always do.

It wasn't like I was in a trance. It was like someone else was calling the shots and I was spectating. As soon as I got to my work area and greeted my coworker, the spectating stopped and I was in full control again. But my heart wasn't racing and I wasn't horrified. I was just normal me. I can't explain it well. And I know that doesn't make sense.

But that's what happened. My mind and body weren't one for about 20 minutes. Then suddenly, they were, and it was just okay. Now you know why this still has me fucked up to this day. What the actual fuck were those things? Why did I choose to scale the wall that morning? Sudden, impulsive choices are so unlike me. It's crazy to even think that I would do that.

But I did do that. Want to know how I know? My fingertips are cut up from the top of the wall. They were dirty and raw from pulling my weight up the wall. I'm in tears writing this. This hits home. This really happened to me, and I can never tell anyone this. I finally gathered the courage to tell you random internet strangers,

and it was so much harder than I thought it would be. Hopefully getting this off my chest somehow helps me get past this because I've been genuinely traumatized by this experience. Am I really in control of me? Are there some little weird assholes behind the scenes controlling our lives? Guarding us? From what? I'm so lost and I have literally zero answers.

I'm not religious and I've prayed for answers. I have nothing but trauma and anger. Thanks for reading. Go ahead and tell me I'm crazy. or I had a stroke or something. Let's hear it. And now let's get into some comments. Someone says you might be having a psychotic break, but after the way the last five years have been, I'm rooting for, gnomes are real, and they can scoot us around in time. The world needs a little magic.

Someone else says, I can't give you answers on what you saw, but it is possible that you went into flight or fight mode, and your brain disassociated to try and protect itself. Your whole description of not feeling in control of your body and just going through the motions to continue your routine sounds very similar to disassociation. With how terrified you're describing yourself to have been, it is a possibility.

Someone replies to that saying, I agree with this. I'm not going to say if the gnome was real or not, but even if it were, it wasn't controlling you, O.P., your brain was just in panic mode. So you can rest easier on that part, I think. Someone else comments saying, This does not sound like a schizophrenic episode,

and even though I don't know you, if this is the first time you've experienced something like this, I doubt very much you have schizophrenia. I've worked in mental health for six years now, and these are the most common presentations of schizophrenia. Age of onset is between 17 to 25 years old. Typically, you won't experience symptoms before or after those ages. However, outliers do again.

exist. Delusions can be violent or paranoid. Some delusions are harmless. It depends on the person's culture and their particular symptoms. My point is, a one-time experience like this does not indicate schizophrenia or any kind of psychotic breakdown. I think the most probable explanation would be a heat-induced hallucination. In your text, you wrote that it was hot during your walks and sometimes in the hundreds-degree-wise. That's enough to make anyone who hallucinate. And then, surprisingly, a lot of the comments are of people saying that they also have seen gnomes and they believe the O.P. Which is just wild to me.

I have never seen anyone on the internet before claim they've seen gnomes. I mean, I've spent a lot of time on the internet. I do. And this is the first time I've seen such a large group of people claiming they have seen gnomes. So maybe gnomes or seeing gnomes is a common symptom of some kind of psychotic break? I mean, everyone watching right now,

have you ever seen gnomes before? Like, am I the only one that's never heard of this? But yeah, everyone in the comments section is like, yeah, I saw it back in my day. What? And I mean, it just seems to me like the opi had a psychotic break of some sort or heat-induced

hallucinations or something like that. But the O.P. makes an edit to his original post. responding to a lot of these comments. He says, Thank you to everyone who commented. Typing this out did not immediately grant me any type of relief or solace, and I regretted it almost immediately. But after reading the comments as they came flooding in, I realized that it's okay that I had this huge life-changing event. My turmoil and anger has come from the fact that something happened to me and no matter the cause, I have to deal with it alone.

I still am not going to tell anyone whom I know what I experienced. But having so many anonymous strangers stop by and tell me on Reddit to stay positive absolutely has helped me way more than I could imagine. It's okay to have unexplainable phenomena happen and just move forward. The impact this event has had on me is absolutely absurd. I didn't get much into it on my original post, but every time the subject of mystery, magic, secrets, sanity, or anything even indirectly related to what happened came up,

I'd get angry, sweaty, become distant and shorts with my loved ones, and just totally shift in my personality. Several commenters have identified the possibility of me suffering from PTSD from this. I never would have accepted that I need medical help. If I didn't post this message for Reddit, I'm glad I put myself out there, because this genuinely is destroying my life.

Now I see a peaceful path, Ford. My wife suffers from PTSD, what some might call actual PTSD because it stems from several very violent episodes directed at her when she was young. Thanks to the positive reactions to the comments here, I talked to her about anxiety, PTSD, and what she does to help herself. I told her I'm just under lots of stress and would love if we could revisit some of the meditation techniques I remember her doctor having her due early on in our relationship. She happened. She happened. obliged without prying into my situation and even mentioned she noticed I've been off for a little while now. Side note. Someone please direct me on where I can nominate her for a wife of the year award.

She's just fantastic. Anyway, I just want to say a big thank you to everyone here commented. There are many mixed opinions below about what actually happened. Some people think I'm making it up. Some people think I'm batshit crazy or had a brief episode of schizophrenia. Some people believe me, and even opened up about similar events in their own lives. One thing was common, with nearly every comment, everyone wished me well. You guys are so overwhelmingly positive that pretty much every single comment showed me you are invested in my well-being. Sure, there were a few trolls, but genuinely you guys all want me to be happy and healthy going forward.

I owe it to all of you wonderful people to prioritize my health and my family's well-being so I can move past this insane one-off event in my life. For the record, I believe it really happened, and I believe there are some mysterious forces that we can't comprehend at play around us. For some reason, it manifested itself as a gnome and turned my life upside down. I don't know why it happened to me,

but I know that it did happen. And I just have to say that I hope the O.P gets the help. he needs because I'm not going to sit here and be an armchair psychiatrist and be like, well, I think this and that and I think he has this. No, I'm not going to do that. But I mean, you can just tell. You can just tell from this from this post that he needs help. He saw a gnome and he said it ruined his life. And I just think he needs to go talk to somebody who can maybe help him calm down from this and recognize that it wasn't real or, you know, just to move on from

this because, I mean, he said multiple times in here that it ruined his life. And so this obviously was a pivotal point in his life for, I guess just the gnome. It was very weird, but I still think he needs to get help. It's obviously not normal to see gnomes, no matter which way you put it. And so I just hope the OPE gets the help he needs because he does seem like he's a little bit off his rocker here and there. I'm not going to sit here. and try to diagnose him with anything or whatever, but it doesn't seem like he's all there, and I just hope he gets the help he needs

because, yeah, it's just very important to get help when you might think you need it, and I think the OPE here might need it. I was a crystal addict at 13, and by crystal, I mean the drug, and let's get into it. Hey, Snook, thanks for taking the time to read these confessions. I hope you're doing well, and I'm doing great. Thank you so much for asking, and let's get into it.

it. I apologize for this, as it may be a long read. Without getting into too much detail, I'd like to give some backstory. The day after my 11th birthday, my dad passed away. Being an extremely innocent kid, I didn't really understand the concept of death. I didn't understand my dad was forever gone until I saw my mom completely spiral. Immediately after news of his death, my mom threatened to harm us and then tried to commit S-word. She got sent away on a 50-250, a 14-day psychiatric hold. Surprisingly, we weren't taken away. My brother took care of us until my mom came back.

And six months later, we moved to Las Vegas. In Vegas, she dated her ex-abusive husband, who is the father of my two eldest siblings. My other brother and I are the children of the one who passed. My mother immediately became addicted to Crystal and other various drugs. and he was a drug dealer. I was homeschooling for sixth grade at the time, but my mom didn't help me at all, and I didn't know how to turn in assignments, so I failed. I was a curious child, and seeing them do it made me curious as to what it was. I'm not sure how it started, but I acquired my own crystal pipe. My stepdad gave me some crystal, and I learned how to smoke it. I was 13. I met someone who was 17 or 18 at the time,

and I started dating him. He had a child with another woman, and he cheated on me consistently. I did more drugs to cope with it. My drug use spiraled heavily. The withdrawals I felt from the crystal were the worst pains I've ever felt in my life. It felt like my stomach was tearing open

and my body was dying. I did everything you can think of, pills, alcohol, cannabis, crystal, and booger sugar. I mixed things. did pills with alcohol to feel something. I did crystal the most, though, 10 plus times a day or more. I even did it with my mother to bond with her.

I was trot from school, missing over 90 days in one semester. I was extremely malnourished. While all of this was going on, my mother rarely fed me. Money was prioritized for drugs. Money coming in from my dad's life insurance. I wore hand-me-downs from my mom, which were, not appropriate for school or for a 13-year-old, the abuse from my stepdad was excessive to my mom. He threw into a mere one time and threatened to stab me with a spoon.

This was normal. This was my normal. Anytime they'd fight, they'd blare music. They'd do that often. To bond with me, my stepdad would take me to motels and have me deal drugs for him. Here, I was S-A'd by my stepdad's friend. We'd go to crack houses, and I'd go to crack houses, and I moved out for three months to squatting abandoned house with my boyfriend at the time and two homeless men. I was 14. I vividly remember the toilet being full of maggots, needles everywhere, and I slept on a futon with no mattress. I came back home and my room was full of bedbugs. I mean falling from the ceiling type of infestation, thousands upon thousands. So I moved downstairs and slept on the couch. This is when I got really depressed. Like, really? Depressed.

My boyfriend at the time started hurting me. I tried to commit S-word with an excessive amount of pills and passed out in the bathroom. My mom saved me. I hated her for it. My mom also threatened to self-delete often. That's what the original writer wrote, especially if I sided with my stepdad, which I never really talked about much. So I didn't side with anyone. My boyfriend shortly after punched me and he almost broke my ribs.

I kicked him in self-defense and he tried to OD as well. I gave him CPR not understanding how to help. I was panicking. My stepdad threw ice on him and somehow that revived him. I was more scared about the police than him dying. That's how my parents conditioned me. When he got better, which was a few days later, he did something to himself and wrote,

I'm sorry in blood on my bedroom door. That was my final straw. I had my grandpa drive him to the other side of town and I broke up with them. About six months after that, my eldest brother gave me the opportunity to move out. Nobody knew the extent of how bad it was at my mom's. Nobody lived there but me. I had no phone, no connections to anybody. It was meant to be that way. I don't know what inspired me to get better, but I took the opportunity. I had my friend locked me in a room with no access to drugs and I quit, cold turkey. Dumbest decision of my life. I don't remember much

besides the pain. I did end up moving out and while what I went through here is another story for another time. I currently am in a much better place. I'm sober for eight years. I have full restraint from drugs and I'm happy. I'm thankful for my brother endlessly for saving my life. I'm not sure what would have happened if you didn't reach out. My mom is homeless now, so I'm sure my life would have reflected that. To those of you who still are here, I hope you take the opportunity to be thankful for the good things in your life. And please, for me, stay away from drugs. It's not fun. It will ruin your life. It doesn't help. It makes you numb and blind to the bad things around you. Thank you for reading, Snuck. Have a great day. And I just want to say thank you so much for sharing this. And I can only feel so, so horrible for you. I mean, you grew up in just the worst possible conditions. And I'm so sorry you went through that. But I'm happy that you've been able to get out of that.

year sober, that's amazing. That's amazing. Great job. And I'm so happy that you've turned your life around and I hope that your mom can get better soon and I hope everyone you knew from back then gets better as well. And I just believe in you to keep improving your life as much as you can. And I just wish you nothing but the best. Thank you so much for sharing. On to the next one. My father has a intimate relationship with my grandmother. And I had to use intimate as an interchange, but it's the S-E-X word. Wow, that is a very interesting title. Let's get into this.

Hi, Snook. I really enjoy watching your videos and I've probably watched 90% of them, L-O-L. Thank you so much. I appreciate that. That means the world. I'm writing this confession to you because I feel like you can give me some real advice on how to deal with the situation. And I haven't told anyone about this thing.

So my father is 16 years older than my mother. And my grandmother, my mother. my mother's mom is only seven years older than my father. So here's the background of the entire thing. My parents met at work and they dated for only three months before deciding to get married. My mom was only 20 back then. One day before my parents got married, my mom wasn't home and that time my father came over to my mom's house where she lived with my parents. At the time, my grandfather wasn't home either, so only my grandmother was at the house when my father came without any notice. I don't know what happened between them exactly. Neither does my mom know,

but she said that when she got home around 5 to 6 p.m., she saw my father and grandmother were both looking very tired and sweaty. It looked as if they were doing something really tiring. My mom asked them indirectly about what they were doing, and they said that they were just talking. My mother was too innocent to understand anything. Actually, I believe she was just not ready to accept the truth that she already knew. Later, even one of the neighbors told my mother that my father at the time fiancee would often visit my mother's house when my grandfather and mother weren't there. I got to know all of this when I was old enough. My mom was still very suspicious, and even me and my siblings were, but my suspicions were proven right a year ago. My grandmother had recently bought a phone,

and she is not that good with smartphones. One day she came over to our house and I I handed her my phone to manage something, and I was doing exactly what she told me when suddenly I read this notification of a text that came from my father on her phone. This text read, Do you want to see a picture that I had taken of you? Winky emoji, which sounded very flirty, and also I've never seen my father and grandmother together alone in the same room ever. So how did he even get a picture of her?

I was too surprised that I even thought that maybe he meant to text my mom or something and accidentally sent it to my grandmother. As this was happening, my father sent another set of winking emojis and I accidentally opened the text, which resulted in him knowing that the chat was opened. So I texted him from my grandmother's phone, Hey dad, I'm fixing something on Granny's phone currently and I accidentally opened the text and he deleted his previous his end text as soon. as soon as he understood that I had seen them. This confirmed mine and my mother's doubts. Though I don't have any actual evidence, it still feels he did cheat on my mother with my grandmother. I don't know how to feel about the situation.

Please, Snook, help me make my mind clear. And I don't have a lot of initial ideas because, I mean, wow, this is just a lot of pressure on me now. You just put it all on me. I don't know how to feel about the situation. but that is a very interesting, interesting, you know, scenario. Do you, I mean, yeah, it is very weird. They were seen together very tired, so that means they could have been doing something,

you know, what something is. And the winking emoji and do you want to see the pictures I have of you, winky emoji, that is very obviously flirtatious. I mean, there is no evidence that they were doing anything intimate. that would be wild if they were because that's your grandma and that's your that's your father's father's oh Jesus that's your mother's grandma yeah that's just I mean I don't know how like the family dynamics works but that is just very very very weird I mean the grandma isn't that much older than them but still regardless it's weird what I would do personally if I

you, just tell your mom exactly what you saw and try not to get involved. I would not try to be a detective and try to figure it out because in all honesty, that's not really your business. That's more of your mom's business, I would say. And maybe your dad, maybe even confront your dad about it. I don't know. I don't have great advice about this. And yeah, this is just, has me kind of starstruck because this is just such a unique confession. But yeah, I don't know. And this was sent in about a few months ago, so I'm sure the opi or the emailer has done something by now. But if you are watching this, please send me an email. What ended up happening?

Because, yeah, that's just a wild, wild, unique confession. But everyone watching, what do you guys think? Reddit Confession. I paid somebody overseas to have the man who assaulted me attacked. Sorry, this is long, and sorry for the anonymity. plus spelling mistakes in advance. English is my third language. First things first.

I am male 27. I was born and raised in East Africa. I have a huge extended family. On my dad's side, they are 13 of them, so you can imagine. My grandma was pretty well off. She had a big house and big farm. A big farm meant many day laborers slash workers. They used to come and go in the evenings,

get paid some little change. She was also very kind, and she also used to help some of the workers in various ways. One of the ways was giving them extra food on top of their pay, etc. There was this one older lady who apparently had worked for her even before I was born. My grandma put her last born son through school, and all he had to do was help in the home. He used to stay at my grandma's house during the weekend. This guy was always very nice to my cousins and I. He was just good to us.

When I was about 8, 9, or 10 or so, he took the niceness to the next level. Long story short, he bought some juice boxes or something, then lured me into his shed. He then assaulted me. To be honest, I really don't want to remember this. Shit gives me nightmares. I knew what he did was wrong because he promised to keep buying whatever candy slash juice box he had. I did keep quiet. One day, I saw him in my little cousin, who is five years younger than me, and get all friendly,

and I asked my cousin what happened. He admitted to me that he had lured him too. The sad thing is me and this cousin grew older and left for high school, I think. Unfortunately, like I said, we had a big family, which means I had more younger cousins. Note, being gay in Africa is almost a taboo. I think things are changing slowly now. Not sure, though. We never talked about this ever.

We are in high school, and one of my uncles told him to go to his city and work for him. My uncle was super rich. He had businesses and all that. He later went on to politics, but I digress. About a year or so, I hear a story that some people are looking for him. At this point, let's call him Bob. He was caught assaulting some boys in the neighborhood. One of them had admitted to his parents after they suspected something.

In my home country, the police work a bit different. due to the corruption. But somehow, Bob fled that part of the country. And that's the last I heard of them. Now, fast forward. My immediate family and I moved to the diaspora, Monsei where. And all of a sudden, things have changed in our favor. More opportunities and money is looking nice and all. I work hard so you know. Early 2010s, I go to visit home after almost a decade. I got to my little hometown, and guess who shows up. By the way, when you go overseas and go back home, it's a big deal. You are a big fucking deal.

Everyone thinks you will leave some euros or dollars, LOL. This guy sees me and he approaches me like nothing ever happened. I had forgotten all he did to me and my cousin till this very minute. Something in me snapped. I looked at him and when he shook my hand, I swear I do not know how I never jumped on his neck to kill him. I called my cousin and reminded them. of that. He really played it out and said he does not remember. I reminded him that we still have

young children at home and there is a predator who after all these years is still on the loose. I have a good job and I actually make good good money so it's not an issue. I just told him we need to get them castrated. By the way, in my little town back home, that's what is done to R-wordists. But it kind of applies to men who R-word women. What he had done? to us was unheard of, and to many, it does not exist. Most of the kids I went to school with are poor, unfortunately, and make less than a five pounds a day. So if you show them more than a thousand, they will be willing to do just about anything. One of them became what is equivalent to one of those traffic cops here. He has a weapon and authority, but rarely he uses that weapon.

The police are some of the most corrupt people in Africa. I told him my story, and guess what, he was a victim too. I told him to detail whatever he had to, but make sure that man now in his 40s is literally fucked. I gave him $500 and promised another significant amount, which I'd bring myself. I went back to my country of adoption, and a few months later, my cousin sends me a video of what we call mob justice in my home country. The video shows a man being ruthlessly beaten by villagers with clubs, rocks, and such. The story goes that he had attempted to be a man. He had attempted to to lure a local chief officer's kid and his friends to doing the nasty. Before they turned him in, they cash rated the nasty man.

A year or so, I visited back home and my former classmates told me to buy him tea, LOL. Trust me when I say I bought him a lot of tea. There was no evidence as the man was not caught in the act. He was charged with various other shit, but he got out because he is now insane. He is the town madman. It does not take away what he did to us, and the worst part is, I remember after what he did to me, me thinking that that was normal.

Last year I went home for Christmas and I saw him, stared in his eyes and told him, I paid people to do that to him. That's literally the best $1,000 I've ever paid. I have a family of my own now, and I have no regrets this fool walks around with a gap between his thighs and eats from trash cans because of it. And Jesus, that was one hell of a confession. Obviously, the English wasn't good, but like the O.P. said, It's his third language, give him a break.

But, um, wow, that is just an insane, insane confession. I saw murder. I live in Australia, and there are some really beautiful hiking trails that I like to go on to not only see the views, but also get exercise as I wasn't in the best shape back then. I was hiking near the glasshouse mountains near the edge of a trail, so there was trees on either side of me. with an opening allowing view down the side of the mountain. As I hiked up, I got near the top of a trail when I heard screaming like an argument,

lots of curses and just horrible things. As I got closer to the sound, I heard something along the lines of, help, please help, and sobbing with more curses. I thought someone may have fell, so I went to get a closer look, and I saw a person on top another person, and the one on top was swinging their arms up and down, on this other person's chest. Then the guy on top

just left, ran. I saw the person die. They were trying to crawl and died. And at this time, I didn't have a phone because I was still only young and had strict parents. I've been carrying this guilt for over 10 years

and I'm shaking while typing this. This isn't a joke. I saw a murder. Viewer submitted confession. I accidentally killed someone. It was about five years ago. I was a very troubled kid. Still am.

I had a reputation of a hero because I was beating up people that were bullying others. There was this guy. His name was Mark. He was one of the worst people I've ever met. He was a arwardist. He arward multiple girls from my school and when I found out I was mad. Really, really mad. The police wasn't doing anything because his father was a lawyer,

so I decided to take the matter into my own hands. It was a cold night. I was laying in my bed, doom scrolling like always, and then I got a text from Mark. Hey, I heard about you a lot. Want to meet up? When I saw that, I knew this was the perfect time to show him how it feels to get hurt. I got up, dressed up, and left my house.

He wanted to meet at a forest. I already knew what he was planning. After about 15 minutes of walking, I finally got there. And there he was standing not so far away from the main path, with that disgusting grin on his face. I walked up to him, and before he could say anything, I punched him. He fell to the ground, and I just started punching him like crazy. After 10 minutes, I stopped.

Blood was everywhere. and he was just laying there. He was still breathing when I left. The next day, I was walking from school. And then I got a call from my friend. Yo, did you hear that Mark is missing? What? Wait, what do you mean he's missing?

Yeah, his mom reported him missing a few hours ago. Oh, well, I hope he doesn't get found, ha ha. Me too. Fuck that guy. I went home and the thoughts started jumping in my head. He's missing and I was the last person he saw. I couldn't have beat him up that badly, right? This was in November.

In the woods. Cold. Freezing. He still considered missing. I killed him that day. I left him there knowing fucking well that he will freeze to death. He either got up and on the way he just fell and never opened his eyes again. Or he never got up in the first place.

I don't feel bad. I don't feel anything. He deserved it. He was a monster, not me. I didn't want to kill him that day. I wasn't even thinking of that. But you know, your body reacts faster than your mind. He had it coming. He just didn't know when it would happen. I've ruined my wife's life. I just want to start by saying. I just want to start by saying. I am an incredible coward for letting things get to the point they are at now. I feel as if this is the worst post that this subreddit will see for a long time. I am 26 years old, as is my wife. We've been married for a year and a half. To keep a long story short, I was always unhappy in our relationship. I tried and tried to make my wife happy,

but I never was made to feel like I was good enough. I proposed to make her happy. We got married because I know it's what she wanted. I hope things between us would change and get better after each of these huge steps, but it never did. Then we found out she was pregnant. A few months later, I finally told her how I feel about a relationship and that I want to divorce. I feel I cannot be a good parent to our soon-to-be-born child living in a loveless, unhealthy relationship. In my heart, I truly think it would be better.

for the child to have two separate parents that get along, rather than two married that fight and raise her in a loveless, unhealthy household. I become more and more emotionally distant, and I eventually start sleeping in the spare room. Eventually, I agree to counseling, even though my mind is made up. I don't want to fix the marriage. I just want out. I want to be happy and feel loved. something that has been missing for many years. While I am still married, I currently am still, I meet this new girl. She drives me absolutely crazy with everything she does,

and we fall for each other instantly. I haven't even got to the most controversial part. This new girl is 18. I know it's cliche, and everyone will joke, but she is incredibly mature for her age for what it's worth. Her and I start dating and eventually sleeping together. I've not been intimate with my wife since we conceived. I told my girlfriend my situation,

and she is willing to wait it out to be together. I love her so much. She has helped me through so many dark times. During all this, my wife makes efforts to fix issues that have been on our relationship from the beginning. I still just want out. I eventually tell her that I've kissed another girl, thinking it would end things,

and she tells me she still wants to be with me. I tell her, I slept with someone else, and she again said she still wants to be with me. She continues trying, and I continue pushing for a divorce. So here I am, Reddit. I'm a complete and utter fuck up. I have cheated on my pregnant wife. My family has pretty much disown me for wanting to divorce. My parents and I had a brutal argument over this.

When I left, I cried for hours. I also contemplated S word. I would never follow through with it, but it made me wonder if anyone would even care or miss me. I may lose all my friends through this process, but I'm a dedicated to following through. I have not been happy in a very, very long time. I have not felt loved in a very, very long time.

Until now, with my new girlfriend. I'm selfish in how I've been acting, but I don't know what else to do. I want a divorce, but she just refuses to let me go. She is a better person than I ever will be. I just want to be happy. Despite all of these things I've done, I fully intend on being there for our child. I would never want them to think they are the cause of this.

I will never speak ill of my wife to our child and never use them as our pawn. I will be the best father I possibly could be and love our kid with all of my heart. Thank you for reading. It felt good to get this off my chest. She won't read this, but I just wanted to know that I'm sorry for hurting her. I gambled away the money my dad worked hard for and handed it out to me for college. I, 19, have begun my undergrad studies last year. I come from a working class family and we haven't inherited any wealth and lived pretty much

paycheck to paycheck till I left for college. My dad works extremely hard to provide for me and my family, and so does my mom. My dad then gave me around 7,000 euros before I started college this year to help me out with rent, insurance, and food. That is supposed to last me a whole year, as student dorms are pretty cheap here, and my uni fees has already been paid for. I started gambling around three months ago, with 7,000 euros in my account. It only started as a fun thing to do with friends.

I lost around 300 euros in the first week and thought I'll leave gambling for good. However, I just wanted to get back whatever I lost and then leave. And so it began. It spiraled out of control and I was losing money every day. It got so bad that I'd spend my whole day on the gambling website trying to just make back whatever I lost. I wasn't having fun doing it. I had to do it because I couldn't ask my dad for any more money as he was already under a massive debt and couldn't be burdened with any more stress. And finally, it came.

The day I've been dreading since the beginning. I couldn't deposit any more money in the gambling site. I was devastated and I still am. I didn't have the heart to do it, but I had to ask my dad for more money. I lied to him about what happened to the money. I told him I'd have access to it in a few weeks. He trusted me and sent me 2,000 euros more. I just wanted to make back whatever I lost and tried to gamble again.

Oh no. Then I fucked up big time. I lost all the money again yesterday when I blew it all up gambling. Jesus, man. I'm planning to come clean to my dad. I don't know how he's going to take it. It will break his trust and disappoint him a lot. I'm terrified of what's going to happen after I tell him.

I destroyed my social life the past few months. I've been on gambling sites like a degenerate all day long and I ignored my friends. I feel malnourished as I don't even have enough money to eat thrice a day. This is the first time I'm sharing this and I wanted this burden off my chest. Just please don't gamble with anything more than the amount you can lose. It broke me apart after all that, and I don't know what I'm going to do now. I hope I can make it up to my dad. He's my hero, and the fact that I did it to such a pure person breaks my heart.

And I have to just completely change one of the last sentences he said there. The OP says, just please don't gamble with anything more than the amount you can lose. I would just replace that with don't gamble. Because, I mean, that's how the OP got in the hole in the first place. he gambled what he could lose and he just gambled it for fun. But guess what? You lose that money and you want to gain it back. That's just the vicious cycle of gambling.

And it's very easy to tell yourself, oh, well, I'm just going to start with $100. Well, what happens when you lose that $100? Most people don't listen to their own rules. And they're going to be like, well, I can do another hundred. I'm going to earn back that other hundred. And then soon enough, they're down $1,000. Oh, well, I just got to earn the $1,000 back.

oh well now you're down 2000 and then so on and so forth until you lose everything like we just saw with the opi and it is so sad that the op got into this hole that they did and it's even sadder that the opi lost the 7,000 euros and then got more money from his dad and lost that all i mean it's so sad that his dad worked so hard for that money and worked his ass off and gave it to his son trusting his son that he'd spend it on things he needed but he just blew it all way. Blue it away, gambling. And for everyone watching,

please just don't gamble. It's not worth it. You will lose. And right now, it is easier to get addicted to gambling than it ever has before. People have casinos in their pockets with all of the sports books and all that bullshit. Just don't gamble. Don't even entertain it because you will lose.

And it's not a addiction you even want to get started. And the OPS has since deleted their accounts. So we can't see any sort of update post. but I hope the OP was able to get a job and start earning back that money and paying back their dad, but just such a sad, sad story of addiction. OPE's game and addiction costs him everything. And just a quick note before we get into this one, with those not familiar with the game itself,

Star Citizen is an in-development multiplayer, space trading, and combat simulation game. It's been in development since 2012. It uses almost entirely crowdfunding for costs and as such has players buy in-game spaceships for real money, with the cheapest being $45, and some ship packages having a price of up to $48,000, according to one article I saw. Some of these ships aren't in-game yet and are considered, quote, concept ships, essentially pre-ordering in-game items.

Many people consider this game to be a scam based on the amount of time it's been in development. missed development milestones delays in the exorbitant prices of some of its contents. In the first post, the OP made is actually deleted by the moderators and we can't see it, but from context I've seen online, basically the OP made two posts saying he spent nearly $5,000 on the game and needs help. But let's get into the comments. Someone says, pay back what you owe immediately and don't rack up debt. And the OP says, but I need the new spaceships. And then someone else replies saying, so your girlfriend literally left you because you bought so many ships to the point she had enough

of it and dumped you? Honestly, bud, I do the same if I was in her shoes. And so off the bat, OPE's in a bad place. I mean, this isn't really a spiral. It seems like he's already, you know, on the downward trajectory and has a bad addiction. Someone else says, if trolling, good job. If serious, stop. These things aren't real and some folks have more money than they need so they can buy things like JPEGs. All you need is a starter. Play the game and earn them in game. IA.E. FOMO hits hard by design, but these ships will still be there and still be earnable in game. And I didn't even know that. So why would you waste so much money just buying the ships? I guess you're just impatient. And then the OP says, I'm wing commander now. I don't know how I got here. I can't pay my rent

this month. Jeez, man. You already can't pay his rent. Someone else says, from every comment you made, this one is the most disturbing. All of us commenters, don't know you. We don't know your relationship or family background. It is hard for us to judge your situation. But you spending money you do not have is a very serious sign. This, more than anything else, is a sign of addiction that even a stranger on the internet can spot. I see many people have suggested therapy, but I know that is a huge step for an addict. I would suggest that you, at the very least, find people to talk to that can understand your urges. There are many good self-help group projects around addiction in general. Start by going to a group and just listening and maybe telling your

story. Even if you don't believe any of us that you have a problem, take the fact that you don't have any money for rent as a sign to take the off ramp before not only relationship unravels. It can't hurt to go talk to someone who understands. Take care O.P. And know that you can't beat this. And so off the bat, the O.P. is already in the depths of addiction with spending money on the game. He can't even pay his rent and seemingly he seems like he's going to break up with his girlfriend or his girlfriend's going to leave him. Um, and just bad situation already. And then the OP makes a post saying update on my situation posted November 26th, 2023 and the post reads as follows. Follow up to my previous post because maybe you don't believe me. My girlfriend is pissed about how much I spent on ships

last week, and she said she may actually leave and went back to her parents. I had to tell her I ruined my credits, and we can't get a new apartment this year until I fix it. Credit is too bad to rent in New York City at our salary. I kind of wish this was a joke, but I have a genuine addiction. This week, I've accumulated over 5,000 in pledges. I have no idea what I'm doing. Please help. I don't know what 5,000 of pledges is, but I guess that's a big deal. And then someone in the comments says, Request refunds from support and seek some professional help

with your impulse control. There's nothing that anyone here will be able to help you with directly. Someone else says, CIG can't help either. It was all gray market purchases. And then the OPE says, what's the point?

She's walking out. And then the commenter says, the point is you have a fucking problem that is literally overtaking your real life. Get fucking help. Holy fuck. You posted in other subredits about how she is actually

leaving you, but not before you update your star citizen status. You are never going to get above this unless you get help. Delete your account and take things fucking seriously. Your wake-up call was the first incident of spending your money on this game. I would call it mental health problems, but you say down. Fix the issue a bit, then did it again. And now, single as fuck, you still haven't stopped or gotten help. And then another commenter says, ask for refund. Number two, go get professional help. If you suffer from addiction, it's not only going to be Star Citizen. Get help now so you can learn to manage it. Number three, inform your girlfriend of the steps you have taken and tell her that she means more to you than the game. That is insanity. Do the same thing and expect a different outcome. Someone else says,

look at his post history. They were all gray market purchases. Dude is beyond fucked. And then the OP makes an update saying, this is the fleet that cost me my girlfriend posted on November 26th. It's 2023, and then he posts a picture of the fleet for everyone watching. That plays Star of Citizen. Is this good? I don't know. I don't play that game. And then the O.P.

says, she's nowhere near as excited as I am about the Astara. And from that, like, sentence, it seems like he's being kind of, he's playing with it. He's sarcastic. I can't tell if he genuinely wants help or it's just kind of back and forth. Like, he's like, she's nowhere as excited as I am about this thing. It seems kind of sarcastic and playful almost. So, like, is he really down bad yet?

Or is he not really hurting for the money? You know what I mean? But let's get into his next post was titled, Am I the asshole for breaking a needless promise after fixing a situation? And then the post reads as follows. A while back, my significant other and I hit a rough patch. I'm an avid player of Star Citizen. And admittedly, I tend to go overboard with it.

A few months ago, during a sale, I impulsively spent our saved down payment for a house on virtual space. ships are saved down payment for a house. Holy shit. Understandably, she was furious and temporarily left. I realized my mistake, apologized, and took on an extra job to replenish our savings. I'm close to restoring our financial status to its original state, though it will take another six months to fully recover, not accounting for my personal debt. As part of the reconciling, she asked me not to purchase any more spaceships for six months. Initially, this seemed reasonable, but over time, I've come to view it as somewhat excessive. Despite this, I recently bought a few

more spaceships, and she discovered it. Now considering leaving me for good. I thought that by nearly restoring the savings I had spent, I made amends for my actions. I genuinely enjoy collecting spaceships in the game. She's also concerned about my credit score and other financial issues, but I'm confident I can rectify those in the coming years, given that I've already managed to recover most of our savings through extra work. I'm struggling to understand if I'm in the wrong for breaking what now seems like an arbitrary promise, or for a reaction to leave over what I consider my primary hobby is unjustified. And now let's get into some comments, and someone says,

Here, I fixed it for you. I'm a professional gambler. One night, I gambled all of her mutual savings for a down payment away. She was pissed and we agreed on me working extra shifts to pay back the savings and not to gamble for at least six months. I paid back the savings and now gambling again like nothing happened and I didn't betray her trust by gambling our savings away in the first place. Now she doesn't trust me anymore and wants to leave me and I have no idea why. Also, my credit sucks now and I still have my personal debts while spending money on gambling again. Why doesn't she want a future with me anymore?

What else can she want with a dude with debt, bad credit and a gambling addiction who already gambled away your mutual savings? once. I'm a catch, but she somehow doesn't see it this way. Why? So this commenter is obviously kind of replacing the gaming addiction with gambling and it makes it seem kind of worse. And then the OP has an interesting response to this saying, it is not gambling because I own the ships, which is a weird way to rationalize it. But then the guy comments saying, you're gambling on their resale value, unless you have no intention of selling at all, in which case they aren't an investment in any helpful way here. You've mentioned in other responses that you see them as an investment,

and they contribute nothing practical to your life. The very best you can hope for is a morale boost for time spent on your hobbies. And while it's nice to have that, you've gone so far over the line that you've risked and probably lost your relationship. You know full well, you must do. Nobody can be this deluded. And I agree, the OP just seems so, like, just kind of delusional. He's like, why is my girlfriend not see this as a hobby?

Because you spent your fucking down payment on a house on video games. I mean, anybody would leave their significant other after that. Or not everybody, but a significant amount of people would. I mean, like, imagine you work your ass off. You're saving up with your significant other. And then boom, spends all the money on a video game. How is this guy not see that he's the problem here? And then another commenter says,

wait, you spent $15,000 on digital. spaceships in a game that were to be used for a house down payment behind the back of your spouse. After she discovered it, you told her that you'd replenish the money and stop buying ships for six months. You did get a job and before both conditions were met, you already bought another goddamn spaceship and you have the audacity to pretend they are investments in one comment and say that you would never sell them in another? Which is it, dipshit? Let me tell you, it's going to be a divorce. Please never reproduce and get your addiction under control before ever getting another girlfriend. Forget the judgment. In case it wasn't clear enough. And then someone else says,

$15,000 on a video game, he's lucky she didn't stab him. Someone else says he buried the lead too. If he read his other post, he dropped another 5k on virtual shit. And then the OP makes another post saying, 31 male, can I rebuild trust with my girlfriend after gaming addiction ruined our apartment plans? And then the post reads as follows. 31 male facing a crisis I never expected. My girlfriend and I had plans to move to a better apartment, but I jeopardize our dream by spending our savings on Star Citizen, a video game. This incident has made me realize that I might be battling a gaming addiction and impulsive spending, Despite her initial forgiveness and a clear agreement to not buy more in-game items for six months while we're punishing our savings, I failed to stick to our plan.

This breach of trust led to a major argument, especially after I refused her suggestion to sell my gaming account. Consequently, she's left, and we haven't spoken since. Oh boy. This situation has hit me hard, making me see how my gaming habits has turned from a hobby into a destructive force in my life. I'm struggling with the self-realization that my actions have not only damaged my relationship, but are also affecting my financial stability, as my credit score is now in jeopardy. The most painful part is recognizing how much I love her in the extent of the turmoil I'm in. I'm earnestly seeking advice on how to address my addiction and possibly salvage my relationship.

And what I think is just crazy before moving on to the comments, that he's just now kind of realizing that. It took her leaving him to even begin to think, oh, how do I get better? He hasn't listened to any of the comments suggesting get therapy, go to some sort of addiction, counseling, or whatever, talk to anybody. And now that he finally left her, now he's like, okay, I guess I'll get help. I guess I have an addiction. Like, it's so delayed, like he never even realized or wanted to take the advice that people gave him earlier.

So what says he's going to take it now, you know? But let's get into some comments. Someone says, so let me get this straight. Number one, you stole her money to buy pixel spaceships. Number two, she forgave you as long as you stopped buying pixel spaceships. Number three, you kept buying pixel spaceships. Number four, you refused to fix the problem by selling off your pixel spaceships. Number five, she realizes you love pixel spaces more than her and left for good.

I mean, dude, I'm sorry, but she's well shot of you. She's never coming back. And if she did, she'd still really. present you. The childish response would be to keep sinking money you don't have into Star Citizen. The moral response would be to sell your account and send her the money that you owe her after you stole her savings. Someone else says, dude, I'm looking at your post history. You're in full on denial about how you're spending slash gaming addiction. You 1,000% have an issue after you spent $15,000 in six months on optional purchases for a mobile game. And I looked it up. It's not a

mobile game, it's a PC game, so I don't know why this commenter said that, but then they said there's no way you can salvage the relationship without first addressing this issue. And even then, the chances are low that she'll take you back. If anything, you need to do this for yourself and your future. Do you want to have bad credit slash be alone slash be in debt to a game 10 years from now? You need to go cold turkey with this game. Sell your account slash ships and lock yourself out of your account and go to therapy. And then the OP makes another post saying, resisting the urge to buy more ships. These repeat sales are making it quite difficult to leave the old credit card holstered.

I can't be the only one. I do like that. We get each a second chance, though. And then some people in the comments say, don't buy more ships, dude. And then the OPE said, I didn't. Someone else says, this profile has to be a troll at this point. If not, holy fuck, get actual help, like a therapist or a psych. Someone else says, I think so too.

Looking at his fleet pick from two weeks ago, surely he's not. missing any ship either flight ready or concept. And then the OPE says, missing a cutter. I don't really know what that terminology means. And then the OPE makes a final update saying, hey, I ruin my life over a video game. It's all starting to come together for me. I essentially ruin my life over a video game. I'm in massive unrecoverable debt. My girlfriend left me. My parents are refusing to speak to me. I have constantly. and anxiety of my life is falling apart. I'm going to lose my job, and I might lose my apartment.

I haven't spent any money on games in a bit. I don't know. Sorry, this is so disorganized. I just need to vent. And then the OP makes one final post about this titled $61,000 in credit debt with no end in sight. And sadly, the post was taken down by moderator, so we can't see the details.

but just from the title alone, holy shit. He got it up to $61,000 in credit debt. Credit card debt is so dangerous. I mean, the interest on those is insane. That $61,000 can compile into something horrific if he doesn't start paying it off, but that is just such a tragic, tragic story in spiral. And that was posted about a year ago or two years ago,

and the OP's account has been deleted since then, so we have no idea what he's up to. hopefully he was able to sell his account for a decent chunk of change and kind of bite away a lot of that $61,000. But from his habits that we can obviously see here, he wasn't making any sort of effort to help recover from his addiction and impulse spending and video addiction, video game addiction. I mean, it's just horrible.

I mean, he lost everything over a silly video game. I mean, video games are fun, but to ruin your life over him, yeah, that's just so so tragic. And now let's get into some comments on this thread. Someone says, the scary thing is that his comments indicate that he clearly hasn't hit rock bottom yet. Addiction is scary and he's ruined his and his girlfriend's life. And now he has no girlfriend and just crippling debt in a star citizen account, I guess. Hope it keeps him warm, comfortable, and how's it night? And then someone comments under this commenter saying, Agreed. In the January 11th post, it's all passive. The gaming addiction

ruined the apartment plans, not his gaming addiction and definitely not opi himself. It was just a random gaming addiction that came out of nowhere to destroy his life. And then someone else comments underneath that saying, yeah, this reads as a horror story. From the perspective of having spent a lot of time with gambling addicts and how their brain was working during their addiction, this dude clearly has a long way to fall. God help him. And I mean, just after reading those comments, you can see that everyone kind of agrees that it's not going to stop anytime soon because he didn't seek out for help once. And I mean, it's not going to just stop magically. And with just reading all his posts over the years, I mean, this was over years, like he didn't seem to want to get help

once. He just kept blaming and saying, how can I recover things, but kept doing what was ruining things. I mean, just so, so sad. And yeah, like I said, it's been about a year and a half, two years since these posts were made or the final post was made. So hopefully he hasn't kept falling. Hopefully he learned from his mistakes and started to recover and got his life back together, but who knows really. My whole family thinks I've been sober for the past year. I'm 19 female, and about a year ago, I spiraled into a really horrible state of addiction. It started with drinking.

I moved out for the first time and had a lot of free time. I started drinking more because I was bored. The house started to creep me out, keeping me up at night, so I started to see. started drinking to fall asleep. It spiraled over the course of two months-ish to me drinking all hours of the day, taking shots in the bathroom at work as soon as I woke up, as soon as he did anything really. I felt more drunk when I stopped drinking and it got really bad, really fast. I realized I couldn't not drink and at one point when I ran out of alcohol, I started to hallucinate. So instead of addressing the problem, I just kept on drinking. My roommate's

stopped coming home because she said she was, quote, tired of watching me do that to myself. I didn't realize it at the time, but I legitimately looked like I was dying, and I was dying. I don't remember anything leading up to it, but I fell into a drug binge. I stayed up doing booger sugar with friends for days on end, and when I ran out, I'd pop a pill to help me sleep it off. I slept for two days at one point, according to my roommate. One night, after falling asleep after a booger sugar binge, no pills involved, I had two back-to-back seizures. Thank God my friend happened to be in the room. It was a terrifying experience, the most terrifying and traumatic experience of my life.

And I have such horrible PTSD from it, but I never talk about it to anyone. After I got back from the hospital, I ruled out booger sugar. I don't remember how the next part started. I just remember waking up and a week had gone by, and I've been doing it. pills and other pills for the entire time. I don't remember a thing and it's terrifying. I know that the guy who was giving them to me had laced me with Fent, which led to me Odin and back in the hospital, and I've been told that he also R-worded me. I could go into a lot more detail, but I ended up in rehab for a while, followed by intensive outpatient treatment. I'm 19 now, and everyone

thinks I've been sober since. I mean, to be fair, I really have got my shit to get. I started my first year of college straight out of rehab and finished with good grades. I've made good friends, found a healthy relationship, moved into a new apartment, started teaching art classes, and have genuinely been relatively happy. But I'm not sober. I was actually only sober for three weeks. All I can say is that I feel I have control now, but I'm sure I said the same thing then. And now let's get into some of the top comments.

Someone says, I work in a treatment center. You're very young. It's rare for a very young person to get sober and clean. What's not rare is for their addiction to spiral. Things get worse and worse over time. You lose jobs, relationships, homes, and school. You have to learn to give up more and more for your addiction to get by until you've had enough. And then, once things are too painful to continue, you have to learn how to quit.

If you don't, you end up dead. or in jail or on the street, but it's never good. You don't have to go through that. You might not be an addict yet, but you're definitely on the way. If you continue, things will get worse. You will hurt the people you love the most, and you will hurt yourself. Stop now. Give yourself a better future. And then someone replies to that saying, you're absolutely right, but she is absolutely an addict. There's no getting around that. I'm a functional addict. I could hold. hold every job I had. Only used drugs where I still had control of everything I did. I hated not being in control, but thought I could handle it. I couldn't. Unfortunately, she still has a hit rock bottom

and will and hopefully learn that she can't control it. And then someone had one haunting comment saying, please seek help. You sound like my best friend. She OD'd in February. In 1999, I killed a man and his wife with a baseball bat for abusing me as a child in the early 90s. I got 20 years in a mental institution. I was born in 1983. We moved into this neighborhood in 1989. There was this guy who had a family, a wife and two children. That seemed pretty nice. However, we never really got to do anything with them. However, he would offer me soda and other drinks if I would go into his shed and look at her cars. The first time essayed me was in 1993. I was 10. He showed me his cars, then pushed me down, and then did some stuff to me. At first, I didn't know what was happening and didn't think much of it until I realized

he was already me. He then hit me and said if I told his wife or anybody about it, he would kill me. He even pulled a gun in my face once. It was disgusting. I couldn't sleep at night. I was scared to tell anyone. I didn't want to be known as a person who was abused by a neighbor. And it went on for almost two years. When I was turning 15, 1998, the full realization of what had happened hit me. I was R-worded as a child. I became depressed and started planning revenge. I had played baseball before, so we had some bats in the shed. I applauded to get revenge on him for ruining my life in relationships. It was January 25th, 1999. It was after 5 p.m. And I grabbed a camcorder and went out to the shed and grabbed a baseball bat. I told my mom, I was going to shovel his driveway. There was a snowstorm.

But I wasn't. I knocked on his door, and his wife opened. I swung the bat at her, and she collapsed. Then I heard screaming from his kids. I had the camcorder. I had the camcorder in one hand, and the bat in my other hand. I recorded the whole thing. He began to run. He was sitting on the couch watching TV. I chased him into the bathroom, where I destroyed the door while screaming at him. When I broke it down, he was in the bathtub screaming. As I swung the bat at him for two whole minutes. Every time I hit him, his face got worse. I just swung and never cared. I let him die while I ran into the room. I'd put my camp quarter down as I broke the door, and his kids were near his wife, who was knocked out. I told them to go into their rooms and to leave me alone.

They were crying. I swung the bat at his wife a few times until she was dead. Then I called 911 and said, I'd killed them. I killed both of them. They were dead. The prosecutor understood what had happened, and it was relieved that he had been beating his wife, and even his children sometimes. So they sent me to a mental institution, but they didn't charge me with murder. They said I had been affected by the abuse and that the killing of him was justified, but the wife was not. I was sent to the institution for 20 years, and now I'm out. I have no intention of committing any more crimes. I tried to miscarry my baby and hurt her permanently.

When I was 15, I got myself pregnant unintentionally. I was a very promiscuous teenager, and I wasn't exactly safe about it. Sometimes I used protection. Sometimes I didn't. I got really worried when I started experiencing the usual symptoms of morning headaches and nausea and skipped my period. So I took a pregnancy test and what I feared was true, I was pregnant.

I had no idea how to react to this. For one, I was utterly terrified and I wanted to get rid of it. In a way, it felt parasitic. The thing inside me with the power to fuck my life up. I have very Christian parents who would have disowned me for having a procedure to get rid of the baby, but I knew they would actually love to raise this kid. However, I hated the idea.

I had problems with eating at the time and didn't want to gain the pregnancy weights and I just didn't want a child. I guess I'm making excuses even now. I started a smoking habit very promptly since I'd heard in science lessons that one of the effects of smoking can be a miscarriage. I barely ate at all and if I did, I threw it up, all in the hopes of starving it as if I was trying to get rid of a fever. It didn't work. I gave birth to her far too early, and as a result, she is blind. I gave her away and haven't heard from her since. She's eight by now.

My parents were surprisingly supportive, and I got the help I needed for my eating disorder, and I still go to regular therapy. I just had to get it off my chest. Edit. I've realized now that this confession has come off as unremorseful. It was hard riding it, and as a result, I focused more on what happened than my emotions. I want to make it clear that I really, really regret my actions.

It's very hard to live with that I've done. And when I was 17, I attempted S word because I simply couldn't handle it any longer. What I've done to my child tears me apart every day. I still have nightmares. I still can't sleep at night. I can't tell you how many times I've wished and prayed to go back and time. However, I focused on improving myself through therapy and I'm training to be a nurse to help children. I know that doesn't make up for it, but I'm trying hard to be better. My wife is dead. The best

Christmas present I could have gotten. At the beginning of 2022, I caught my wife having an affair with one of her exes. Our marriage wasn't perfect. I was not the perfect husband. I was not the perfect husband, I will admit. But I did my best. I put effort into the entire five years we were together. I put my all into the relationship. Her, I could not say the same. I was forced to confront the reality of who she truly was shortly after I caught her. She illegally evicted me from our shared home, lied to the police to try and get me arrested, tried to get me fired for my job, and tried to turn all of my friends against me. Some of these succeeded, while others did not. She has made my life a living hell since the day I asked her for the divorce and has planted her

heels into the ground over our separation to try and drain all my finances and emotional strength from me. The only upside is we had no kids for her to use as weapons, but I soon found out that her policy of strict birth control with me did not extend to her suitor as he got her pregnant five months ago. I thought maybe this would help speed along the divorce, but it only rallied her in her efforts to destroy me. On Christmas Eve, my wife and her suitor went to a party where both of them got drunk. I find this fact terrible, as all her friends knew she was pregnant as well. Her suitor drove them home, a mistake that would cost them both their lives. In the state I live in, our divorce is now considered to never have even started.

I will be able to claim her life insurance policy for myself and move back into my home. Her parents called me up distraught yesterday, acting as if the last year had never happened and offered their full support to my funeral preparations for her. My confusion here was beyond belief, but the apple does not fall far from the tree when it comes to my wife. I told them if they want a funeral, it was coming out of their pockets. I will pay for her to be cremated and deliver her ashes to them in the cheapest earn offered if they desire. They called me horrible and tried to guilt me about her life insurance, but after only four minutes on the phone with them, I hung up and blocked every one of her family's numbers.

I'm going to be taking a few extra days off work to move back into my house over the next week. I've already made arrangements to have her stuff hauled off so my home will be an empty canvas to start my life anew. I don't know if there is a god, or if this was just karma, but I truly believe now that I've come out on the other side of the storm. And then the OP provides an update saying, I have decided to elaborate on a few common threads I see in this post here,

as responding to all the comments would be too much. Firstly, some are judging me for the way I'm reacting to the death of three people. You're right. It is not normal, nor is it healthy. I feel no emotions toward my ex at this moment. all my hatred, resentment, and regret evaporated when I learned of her death. I feel nothing but relief right now. This void has slowly consumed me over the past few days.

I feel numb. Like I'm dreaming. Like what happened is not real. This woman made my life a living hell for over a year. She set out to destroy me and would not stop until. she did. I do not like the fact that I feel this way over the death of three people, but that is not a box I feel ready to unpack at this moment. Secondly, I've reached out to my ex's mom today, and things are much more civil as of now. I'll pay the hauling company to move her stuff

into one of their storage units and then can figure out the rest. Her mother revealed to me that they cannot afford to host a funeral for my ex, I am 100% the legal beneficiary of her life insurance. Despite my past hatred for her family, I told her mother, I will give them a small amount from her life insurance so they can have a service and arrange burial logistics for her. This is contingent on us cutting ties after, and I will not be involved any further in her funeral. I will still be talking to a lawyer. Lastly, I am not going to elaborate any further, except the only lives lost was hers,

her suitor, and their unborn child. Some are saying I should sell the house. Right now, I only want to return to my home. The details of where I end up, either there or somewhere of the rainbow, are yet to be determined. I do not know what life holds. holds for me, or any of us. This event happened. Maybe for a reason, or maybe the universe has

no logic at all. This gift put an end to a period of my life that sent me to the brink of destruction. It's morbid to think that the death of three people was what pulled me to the other side alive. It's interesting how quick it can all change or end. I put it. I put it. I put peanut butter in my friend's drink thinking she was lying about her allergy. I was young, only in the second grade, and had recently been taught about lying. After our lessons on sinning and doing bad stuff, I developed the idea that my friend, let's call her Lily, was lying about her peanut allergy and just didn't like peanut butter, but was too ashamed to tell me because they were my favorite snack at the time. Not to mention the times when someone to bring

a snack for the class, and we'd always have to check if they had peanuts in them. If they did, the whole class couldn't eat them so that she wouldn't feel left down. I was tired of what I thought was a dumb, made-up lie, and decided to take matters into my own hands by bringing a big jar of peanut butter and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Once it's snack break, I waited until Lily went to the bathroom to take out my peanut butter jar to slip a spoonful into her cup. shaking it good so she wouldn't suspect a thing. Once she came back, she sat down and drank some of the peanut butter infused water.

As she did, I watched with wide eyes making sure to take in every detail. Now convinced that she's been lying the whole time, suddenly, Lily started coughing uncontrollably, choking and thrashing herself all over the floor. It also didn't help that she forgot her epipan at home that day, causing her to convulse and forcing my teacher to call an ambulance. It turned out she was severely allergic to peanut butter,

and I never had the goal to tell her what I'd done that day. We are still friends today, and she strongly believes that her father was trying to kill her that day since she got in a fight with him the day before regarding her dead mother. I ghosted my family in fiancé after what my sister did. I need a little advice on the matter, as I don't know what to do anymore. I was 21 when my fiancé asked me to marry him. He was the absolute light of my life.

We had known each other since preschool. Our families are very close. He would come and have dinner with us on a daily basis and vice versa. He doesn't have any siblings, but I have two older. sisters, which is very important as he was also very close with them. We grew up. When we started dating, I don't think our parents stopped celebrating for weeks. He helped me deal with a lot of my anxiety, and even when I gained a little weight and my mother

berated me saying he was going to leave me, he told her off and said he loved me for who I was, not for what I looked like. Even though he claimed I was the most beautiful girl in the world to him, we were only engaged for six months before the incident. My middle oldest sister, let's call her Nikki, was a very cold person. She never showed any affection. She only ever opened up to my fiancé, as she said she saw him as a brother, and he also helped her through a lot of dark times,

such as battling drug addictions and breaking the law. She and I never saw eye to eye. I loved her dearly because she was my sister, but I didn't like her as a person. Out of the blue, she tells me she wants to take me clubbing as we had never been together before and she felt bad that she was so distanced to me. I agreed and that night we went out. Clubbing wasn't really my style, but once I had a few drinks, I loosened up a little and began having fun.

The night was going smoothly until Nikki spotted a guy across the room who she claimed she wanted to climb like a tree. She walked over to him, and within a few minutes she was back and she had a sour expression on her face. I asked her what was up, but she never said anything. I kept pressing because I didn't want her night to be ruined. She then told me the guy didn't want her number, but he wanted mine instead. I told her he was a loser, and there were plenty of guys around who would kill to be with a girl like her. She didn't budge, though.

She told me she needed to use the restroom and then we would leave. I waited for over an hour. During this time, I was sipping on a lot of different cocktails. I then started feeling really dizzy and lightheaded. I figured I'd just cab at home as I was certain Nikki had left. On the way out, though, I bumped into a friend of Nicky's whom she had briefly dated. He asked me if I needed a hand in my car, and I explained I was getting a cab. He said he was getting ready to leave, and we could change.

share one. I told him okay, and we walked out of the club together and into the first cab we saw. I tried to find my phone in my purse, but I felt myself getting dizzier and dizzier. I don't remember what happened next as I blacked out, and the next morning I woke up on a hard sofa, my head pounding. When I came to, I realized I was in Nikki's friend's house, and my phone was sitting on the glass table in front of me, but it was flat. When he noticed I was awake, He offered some tablets and water and explained that I'd passed out in the cab and he didn't remember my parents' address. So he just picked me up and took me back here where he laid me on the sofa. I told him I needed to go home as my fiancé would be worried.

He called the cab and I left. When I arrived at my parents' house, my mother, father, my fiancee and his parents were all standing in the living room. I thought they were worried about me, but the instant I opened my mouth, my fiancé asked, how could I do this to him? I tried to explain that my phone went flat, but he then went on screaming about, how could I cheat on him? I was baffled. Why would he think that?

I tried to explain the night's events, but I kept getting cut off. Nikki then chimed in and said I was a line, and how could I be so heartless to a man who has been there for me through thick and thin? She went on to say I kept flirting with random guys all night, and then when she went to the bathroom, she saw me leave with her friend. I told her what had happened, and she showed me photos on her phone, where, as we were leaving, his hand was on my back ushering me outside. Yes, the photo did look horrible, and I was so drunk, I didn't even realize his hand was on my back at all. My fiancé was so angry. He kept shouting, and his mom and mine were both crying. I then asked Nick. Nikki to call her friend and he would confirm nothing happened, but when she called him,

he told a completely different story. He said I begged him to take me back to his, and when he did, we slept together multiple times. I saw Red and started crying and yelling at Nikki because I knew she had organized this whole thing to make me look bad. I begged my fiancé to believe me, but he just shook his head and left. When everyone had cleared out, my mother slapped me across the face and told me to get out.

I left and went to a friend's house where I stayed for a few nights. During those nights, I called my fiancé crying and pleading with him to believe me that nothing happened, but it all fell on deaf ears as he never returned to any of my calls or texts. My mom texted me and told me she was kicking me out and that she couldn't believe I would do such a thing and a lot of hurtful other slurs I don't think I could even repeat here. her. She didn't even give me time to get my things as she threw everything out. I was now homeless. None of my family would take me in as they chose my fiancé and mother's side. I was homeless and single in less than a day and a half. My entire world had been taken away because of Nikki's lies.

Now for weeks, I tried everything to get my fiancé back in my family. The limit for me, though, was when Christmas time had come, and I went over to my mother's house to try and reconcile. I was sleeping from couch to couch during this time. When I got to my parents' house, I knocked on the door, but no one answered. My friend then called me and told me she just saw on Facebook that my family were in another state celebrating Christmas, and they had posted pictures online. Everyone was there. My sisters, parents, grandparents, and even my fiancé and his family.

When I myself saw the photos, I couldn't stop crying as they all look so happy. I cried for days and days before deciding to block them all. I even returned my engagement ring. My friend knew someone a couple hours away who was looking for some help in his restaurant, and he even had leaving arrangements above where he worked so I could even rent cheap and work at the same time. I wanted to start over with my life, as it hurt me that no one would. took my side, and they all left me to fend for myself. I was able to move pretty quickly, and was doing well. The apartment was tiny, and I had to work 10-plus hours almost every day,

but I was able to save a lot of money. I'm not living in the apartment anymore. I was able to rent a much nicer condo, but I'm still working at the restaurant as assistant manager. Now, it has been roughly two years since I left and have not spoken to any of my family. I have no idea what it's going on with them until I got a knock on my door. It was my ex-fiancee. I was shocked to say the least. All these feelings came rushing back and all I wanted to do was jump into his arms. But then I remember the pain I had felt and tried to slam the door in his face, but he stopped it and asked that I let him explain. He said that Nikki had gotten married and she had confessed that she lied about this situation because she had found someone she loved so much

and realized what a horrible thing she had done. I asked him how he found me, and he said my friend told him. My entire family had been trying to get in touch with me and wanted to see me. I told him I needed time to see if I even wanted to have them in my life. He left, and I've been a mess since. I don't know what to do. I know I will never, ever forgive Nikki.

She could rot for all I cared, but it's hard because my other family and fiancé didn't know she was lying. but I also felt like they abandoned me too quickly without letting me explain my side. I don't know if I should forgive them. Any advice would be much helpful. Thank you for taking the time to read. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says,

frankly, I do not think I can forgive your ex-fiancee or your family for abandoning you so quickly based on an incident that didn't even occur. It's all well and good for them to be sorry, but they didn't even have to completely reinvent themselves on their own the way you did. I would it be quick to forgive or to forget. And then someone else says, you deserve an amazing life and you need to think carefully about the family and fiancé who dropped you so quickly.

Plus, your sister is a psychopath. And that's me being polite. She puts you in such a position of danger for her own gain and destroyed your life. I can't believe also, given her past that your parents, parents would side with her on this. Someone else says, I'm petty a. F. And I would request a meeting with the family and sister's husband. And in front of him, I would tell him how she drugged you and gave to you a stranger to do whatever while you were drugged. How even after making you homeless, jobless, supportless, she still let that go on for years and enjoyed Christmas while not knowing

if you were in a ditch somewhere. Blow up her life. Also, you don't owe them anything. They are all horrible people. And then a few days later, the Opie makes an update to this entire situation. And the update reads as follows. Wow, guys, I don't even know where to begin. I'm honestly so grateful for all the support, advice, beautiful messages, and awards you guys have gifted. I wish I could personally thank each and every one of you. And I did my best to reply to every message. You guys are honestly so amazing, and I cried reading all the comments. My heart has never been so touched with the amount of love and support I got on this post,

and I am so sorry if I took too long to post an update. I was honestly, in so much shock, I didn't know how to cope with it. So, uh, I never got back with my ex. I didn't know what to do, but eventually he must have given my phone number to an parent as they texted asking to meet up. I never replied. and was planning on organizing a Zoom meeting but didn't need to as they also showed up at my door. Well, my father did.

When I answered the door and saw him standing there, I ended up throwing up, which he insisted on cleaning. When he was done, we sat down and I just bursted into tears. My emotions were all over the place and my father has worn the same clone for a really long time. So when I smelled it, it just brought back all. those memories. He tried to hug me, but I pushed him away and asked him what he was doing here. He went on to explain he and my mother are getting a divorce. He said he begged my mother to get in touch with me the minute I left, but she refused, and said I was acting like a baby, and if I wanted to leave them after doing something so horrible, then I could do things on my own

from then on. I asked him how long did it take for them to notice I was gone. He said they arrived back home after New Year's Eve and were planning on invited me over so we could talk. That's when they got in touch with my friend and she told them I left and she didn't know where I was. I asked him why didn't he listen to my side of the story and why did they throw me away so easily? He just started crying. He said he never meant for the things to get so out of hand and he wishes more than anything he could take it all back. I said when they found out Nikki was taking drugs and it dropped out of high school, they didn't throw her away. Instead, we all went on a holiday so she could focus on things besides drugs,

and during that trip, she got hooked on alcohol, and each time they defended her over and over. He said he had no idea my mother was going to kick me out. He thought it was going to be for a few days, but then they decided last minute to spend Christmas out of state. My mother apparently promised him I would be allowed back home after they got back. I said she threw all away my stuff, but he said everything was still there, and she lied about that. I asked him what has happened to Nikki, and he said she is dead to him. He wants nothing to do with her,

but my mother has been crying to him, asking to forgive Nikki as she is not well, and they had already lost one daughter. They cannot lose two. He blocked my mother and Nikki and has been on my ex's case about finding me. My ex caved in when my dad said he blocked my mother and Nikki and told him where I lived. I asked that he never show up again unless I gave him permission and he agreed. He asked what would happen now and I said I really don't know and that he hurt me so badly. I then just went into detail about how much he hurt me and what it felt like seeing them so happy without me and how hard it has been. We were both crying by the end of it but I was really glad I got it all out. It felt like a huge weight to have been lifted off my shoulders. My dad then said he knew a few

places around the area and would help get me a better apartment and he would then help me get a better job, but I told him I wouldn't be leaving this job as my boss helped me out so much and I wanted to repay him at all costs. I said I didn't want it to do anything for me, but I said I do want to reconcile but it has to be on my own terms and it is going to take a very, very long time to trust him again, and I may never trust him again. He said he would do anything to make up for what he did. I asked him why Nikki did this, and if she said anything about it. While she said, she thought my ex deserved better than me, and she wanted to see him happy because he was making too many sacrifices in the relationship. She loved him like a brother and wanted to break the engagement off.

So that night, she asked her friend to come and escort me out of the club so she could get photos and to take me home so her plan could work. She said nothing intimate happened. I went to sleep on the sofa and that was it. He was up playing video games all night until I woke up, which he has proof of apparently. My dad was planning on getting my stuff from my mother's house and bringing it to me, but I told him I didn't want those things anymore.

I then went to ask about Nikki's husband, and he said my mother has been hush-hush with the entire situation, but he had his number and wrote it down for me. After my dad left, I decided to call Nikki's husband. I was sweating the entire time and felt so sick. What if I could hear her in the background? Well, anyhow, when he picked up, I just spit everything out, which I deeply regret because I should have eased into it for him.

He sounded really confused and I explained the entire situation again. I even went into detail about her drug and alcohol problems. I was honestly expecting him to curse me out and defend Nip. Nikki. Instead, he let out a long sigh, and, well, turns out, he had a feeling she wasn't exactly innocent. Turns out her and his sister had been having problems, and she has been spouting nonstop lies about his sister, and has caused a huge rift between them. His sister didn't even attend their wedding. I told him I was sorry, but he should make things right with his sister because Nikki was the problem, not her. We spoke a little more, and he hung up.

I'm not entirely sure what he is going to do with that information. I hope he cuts his losses and leaves her because he sounded like a really nice person, and even he has lost his own sister because of Nikki. So I've decided to reconcile with my dad. My mother has always run the show, their entire marriage, so the fact he is putting his foot down and divorcing her and going and see with Nikki shows he is serious about wanting to make amends. I don't think I will ever reconcile

out with my mother. Now she thinks Nikki is a victim also in all of this, and at this point, I don't care to listen to her excuses. If she reaches out and we can talk, I will update the post again. For my ex, I haven't had the time to meet with him and talk. Though my dad mentioned he wanted to come with his dad, but he told him I would be too overwhelmed if both were there, and seeing them separated will make more clear decisions. He also mentioned my ex was arrested for assaulting Nikki's friend who lied about the entire situation. He was being charged, but the charges were dropped a few days later. I will update the post again, but when I have time to speak to my ex.

Thank you guys for being so patient and so caring and just so amazing. And that is actually the last update we have ever received on the situation, and the OP has never made a third update. But let's get into some comments. Someone says, So this means your sister literally drugged you just to break your relationship up? the way you were passing out at the club isn't normal. What about your other sister?

Someone else commented saying, it might be a lot of hoops to jump through, but I would seriously consider if any charges could be brought against your sister and her friend. They drugged you. They caused you extreme emotional turmoil, but I totally understand O.P. If you just want to wash your hands of them

and not reopen old wounds. Someone else says, it's actually very carmaic that you may have cost Nick the relationship with the man she professes to love after she did the same to you at least in your case it was an act of charity that poor guy definitely deserves better i got s extortion in less than 10 minutes but deserve it and by s extortion i mean s ex extortion i'm sorry i have to censor but you get the uh just of the word and then let's get into the email dear snuck i'm a 21 year old male

living in the southwest United States. I've recently come across your channel on Spotify, and I listen to your stories while at work. I work at an auto shop, and your content helps keep my mind occupied during the day. Please keep up the great work. When I heard you open up the opportunity to give your confessions, I figured I'll give it mine.

It'd make for a good story, my opinion. I've been needing to get this confession off my chest for a while. I'm not really sure how to cope or, what to do next. I never thought something like this would happen to me, but here I am. I'd also like your opinion at the end and the opinion of everyone listening. I've provided some questions. Firstly, I apologize in advance. My grammar and spelling aren't great. First time writing something like this. My girlfriend was away visiting her family in Arizona for the week. She hasn't seen them in a bit, and I had to work. I offered to stay home and watch our pet while she's out of town. I didn't have

any big plans while she was gone. Maybe just do some study work once home and hang loose. The first day alone, I went to work and had a pretty rough day. Rude customers. Got covered in oil, long hot day in general. Finally, it comes time for me to leave work and I'm overly tired, exhausted, and hungry. I was glad that I could just go home and relax without the worry of anything. Or so I thought. My drive home went smooth, almost felt like a dream. You know when you realize you're driving after driving through six lights and wondering if they're all green or not. Yeah, that's what happened with me. All of a sudden in the parking lot of our apartment. First thing I needed to do after driving at home is to take a shower. I very often come home smelling the cars and

covered in a mix of sweat, oil washer fluid and other weird fluids, etc. Now this is the start for reasons I genuinely cannot explain and have no excuse or explanation for doing. Upon taking my clothes off, and going to use the restroom, I downloaded Grindr. I quickly signed up, made no profile bio, no profile photo, and no profile picture, and just browsed while I was on the toilet? Almost immediately, I was contacted by someone pretending to be a female on Grindr. One of the first things she asked for was a photo. I quickly snapped a selfie of myself undressed as I was about to hop into a shower

and then proceeded to close out of the app to find some music to play on Spotify before, starting my shower. I scrolled for a bit and found a playlist. I connected my shower Bluetooth speaker and proceeded to put my phone down on my bathroom counter. As the song starts playing, I heard my phone vibrate. I looked and I received an Apple text message from a random email address starting with the letter G. The text included the photo I had sent, surrounded by a poorly photoshopped wanted poster, and another image poorly photoshopped image of my photo on what looked like a public sidewalk sign. With it was a message. The message demanded money, threatening to leak the photo to my friends and family if I didn't comply. And if I didn't,

that they would not stop until they ruined my life. After realizing how poorly Photoshop these photos were and how the text was laid out, I figured I'm just going to block them and all will be okay. I proceeded to immediately block the email. I deleted the text messages and deleted my account on Grindr. I thought to myself, I'm in the clear, and proceeded to take my shower. I couldn't be more wrong in my entire life. In the shower, I noticed my music stopped only for a brief few seconds, then turned back on with the speaker. Once I was done cleaning all the work rhyme off of me, I proceeded to hop out of the shower and lo and behold, a missed call for my father. I figured maybe he's just calling to say hi.

I proceeded to call my dad back. First thing he said to me is what the hell is this? In a calm, collective but upset tone voice, I immediately knew. Oh shit. Apparently, the person had got my phone number and looked at the people most related to me and put them all in a big group chat. My dad tried to tell me all of the people that were known contacts of his phone, and sure enough, my mom, my dad, my grandma, my sister, my stepmother, cousins, uncles,

aunts, and several other phone numbers. He said, hey buddy, this is bad. This is going to put a stamp on this family for a while. I mean, holy shit, your mom, your grandparents, what are you going to say to them about this? I basically said, I'm not sure. I don't know what to do. Then my father said something that I will forever hear for the rest of my life. He said, Son, what were you doing trying to meet up with a 16-year-old? I said, what are you talking about? And he then proceeded to describe that in the group chat was the photo of me with some text overlaid on it saying I was trying to meet a 16-year-old. I quickly realized how this was going to turn out. I couldn't see the group chat because I'd blocked the original sender. Apparently,

if you block someone that happens to be a part of a group, you can't see what they sent, only what others send. More on this later. Regardless, since I blocked a person who sent the photo, I couldn't see it. I don't want to see exactly what it says. And I've still haven't seen to this day six months later. And I hope to not have to ever see it. I quickly tried to explain to my father what was happening, then hung up. A few. minutes after getting off the phone with my dad, my sister called me wondering what the hell was going on and provided that a majority of her side of the family was in that group chat and were the unknown numbers. Now, I had a list of numbers texted out to myself so I could try to figure out

who was going to see this into contact. Before it was too late. Again, I couldn't see the group chat. I was exhausted, starving, and so shaken, realizing what this could turn into. I then called my mom, my step-sister, and my grandfather, all while I was still drying off for my shower. This all took place within the span of 10 to 15 minutes. From when I first got the app to the last hang-up for now. My girlfriend was out having dinner with her grandparents at this time, and I knew I had two choices. Try to hide this forever or come forward immediately.

For genuinely, no motive whatsoever, or no reason or desire to cheat, or had any thoughts about questioning me. my identity. I decided to come forward to my girlfriend and tell her exactly what happened. She would be back from dinner in about an hour. That was probably the most excruciating pain I've ever felt in one hour. I was trying to ask myself, why did I do this, trying to come up with an explanation? How do I explain this to my friends and family? Nobody believes me from what I've said so far. I'm so tired. I just want to go to bed. Why did I do this? Once she was back, I called her and explained

everything the best I could. She was devastated, broke down crying, and told me she needed space to process everything while she finished visiting her family for the week. That week would turn out to be the worst week of my life. I tried to go to bed that night knowing I had messed up badly. I thought I'd probably ruined my relationship. My entire family had now seen those photos of me and I was being accused of being gay and trying to meet up with a young person, essentially being labeled a complete creep. My girlfriend was upset and confused, and I was confused myself. After one of the most stressful days of my life, the last thing I needed was this.

Somehow, I did manage to fall asleep. The next morning, I woke up and opened my phone to the group chat. I learned that when you block someone in the group chat, you don't see their messages, but if someone else replies, you can only see their message. The group chat contained nearly my entire family, a few relatives, and a couple completely random numbers. One of the random numbers replied with a simple, huh? Or what is this?

That's how I realized exactly who had received it. That was the only message ever sent. I immediately deleted the chat, reported the number to Apple, saved screenshots of what had been sent to me, and reported the incident. online. I also filed a report through the FBI's online extortion reporting system and used the image removal resources provided. I still had to go to work that day. When I arrived, there was a police officer who regularly patrols the area. I explained the situation to him, and he suggested filing a police report. Once I got off of work, while I was at work despite everything, she still went to have

lunch with my parents the day after the incident, which had already been planned for a few weeks. She went with almost every person that was on the list. She said lunch was good, but they didn't talk about the incident. I spent the day thinking it through. At work, and ultimately I decided it likely wouldn't help much to report it to the police, the damage had already been done. All that was left was to recover. The following days were extremely difficult. My girlfriend didn't trust me. We hardly spoke other than the typical good morning and good night and what are you doing today calls and texts she said she would like to talk to me when she gets back the following days were filled with anxiety stress and disappointment towards myself i kept calling more and more of the contacts of that group chat

called them and explained exactly what i've explained before no idea why no motive for my family members who had to see that photo i'm sorry you shouldn't have to see a photo of me in the first place. It is not a good way to be a role model in the family. And to my beautiful girlfriend, and I'm sorry my actions have hurt you. And I know I'll never be able to forgive myself for what I did. My father continued to press me about it for a few weeks, bringing it up repeatedly until eventually it faded into the background. While I waited for my girlfriend to get home, nothing new reappeared. My feelings started to get a little better. Most family members shrugged it off. But I knew my girlfriend.

girlfriend would be the one that I owe it all to. She ended up driving home and got home before I got home from work. She had a couple hours to herself after I got home. I quickly took a shower. We ate dinner together and had a nice conversation to end the evening. Of course, it was emotional. Of course, it is everything that you expected it to be, but I was surprised that she took it as well as she did. She acknowledged that it was a mistake and appreciated that I told her immediately. And now for my favorite part of your story, Snook, the update. I wait until the right time to even send you the story. That way, there is an update. This all happened before the holidays last year, and now it is January 26. I am happy to report my girlfriend and I have

actually grown closer than we ever have before. We actually were able to enjoy the holidays, spend time with our families. We've gone out to dinner multiple times, gone on plenty of dates, and we actually feel like I said before closer than we ever have. It seems like my family has moved on. I haven't heard anything about it since then. I haven't received any new photos. Any new text messages, however, my heart does give a beat when I get a text message from a G.

I'm happy with the outcome. It's probably the best outcome I could have gotten. However, I will still have that gut feeling knowing that I did this to my family, to my girlfriend and to me. And I will live with that for the rest of my life. Now I have a couple questions for you and for everybody watching at home. Firstly, could there have been an explanation maybe, a psychological reason for what I did if there was genuinely no motive?

More context. Like I've mentioned many times before, I've never questioned my personal preference in gender. I've never once been interested in dating and another person. I've been in a happy relationship, and I've never thought I would even do something remotely close to this. Secondly, couldn't have been that. I was extremely lucky slash unlucky? Was it a blessing in disguise?

Could this have been something preventing me from doing anything further? And lastly, how am I able to regain the trust for my girlfriend, like I said? We're doing much better than we ever have, but of course, it's not fully healed. What am I able to do? How should I move on with my life? How hard should I be on myself for it? How are we able to grow together closer than we ever have even more? Thanks, Snook.

And all right, I'll try to take a stab at these questions, but these questions are really a question for you. And you need to ask for, I can't read your mind. And these questions kind of expect me to read your mind. Your first question was, could there have been an explanation or a psychological reason for what I did? I mean, you said you immediately regretted it, which I guess makes sense if you were feeling curious, but this is just a question for you, man. I don't know.

I don't know. I mean, no one usually just downloads Grindr and sends a explicit photo of themselves randomly. Like, that's not something that happens a lot of the time unless you are wanting something out of that other person or wanting to, for some sort of desire or a thrill to cheat because that is cheating, but you said there's no motive, which I can understand your dad not believe in you. But yeah, that is just completely a question for yourself.

Yeah, I don't know why. Because, yeah, in this question you say, I've never thought I would even do something remotely close to this. And so exactly, that's a question for you. I can't read your mind. I don't know your motivation because did you just want to thrill? Were you curious or whatever? I don't know.

I can't read your mind. And same with your second question. You said secondly couldn't have been that. I was extremely lucky slash unlucky. Was it a blessing in disguise? Could this have been something preventing me from doing anything further? And I don't know. What do you mean by could this have been something preventing me from,

could this have been something preventing me from doing something in the future? or in the further. So did you think you were going to keep doing stuff? I don't know. I feel like you left out a lot of details when it came to downloading Grindr, taking the photo, and taking a shower.

I feel like that was a clear gap of details that you left out. And we can't really get a good consensus on why you did what, if you don't leave out, if you leave out those important details. I mean, what, did this girl hit you up and you were like,

hey, you're cute, whatever. And then you send the picture or did you just send the picture right away? I don't know. I mean, I can only speculate because this is just a lot of details missing. And then your last question is how I'm able to regain the trust for my girlfriend. And that's a question for you, again. I don't know your girlfriend. I don't know who she is.

I don't know her personality. I don't know any of this. And so, yeah, dude, I don't know. I guess just be open, honest. be understanding that she might not trust you for a long, long, long, long time because you admitted to cheating on her or being unfaithful. And so it'll make sense if she is very apprehensive to trust you or won't fully trust you certain things or trust you around her family or whatever because you might be a little bit, you know, this is going to be very blunt and honest. You might be

a little bit embarrassing for her in front of her family because of this whole incident. I mean, you might be to move on easy peasy, but you also might not. I don't know. But these questions are really for you and I don't really know how to answer these. But yeah, hopefully that helps a little bit. Hi, Snook. I just wanted to get something off my chest that I've carried for a long time. I'm an 18 year old female and when I was 15, I was in a car accident that changed my life. When I was 12, I moved next door to my best friend. I'm going to call him, Jim. He was a couple months older than me, and from the moment we met, we were basically inseparable. We'd both grown up without great role models, and we understood each other in a way

no one else did. Sometimes we were more than friends, like a lot of teens, but mostly we were just extremely close. My mom was a drug addict. My dad wasn't around, and my grandma had custody of me. My grandma was very mentally abusive, so being around Jim felt like an escape. One night, me and Jim went to my mom's house. It was one of those nights where we could drink, party, and do whatever because there weren't really any rules. My mom's friend's son was there. I'm going to call him Bob.

Bob had a car. And we were all drinking and hanging out. My little sister was there too. I'll call her Lily. She was only 13. At some point, we all got into Bob's car. The plan was simple. Drive down the road, take a quick lap on the back road, and come right back.

Jim actually tried to get out of the car and go to sleep, but I told him to come with us. Just for a quick ride, because we'd be right back. So it ended up being me in the passenger seat, Bob driving, Jim behind me, and Lily behind Bob. The road we went down was a one-lane back road with no markings and no warning signs. There was this curve-shaped, almost like an L, and it came up fast. We were probably going around 55 or 60 miles an hour, and then we hit a tree. I don't remember the impact itself. I remember seeing the tree and closing my eyes.

When I opened them, I was on the floorboard with my knees shoved up against my chest. Before the wreck, I was already sitting with my knees up, but when we hit, I got thrown down. Me and Jim weren't wearing seatbelts. Bob and Lily were. Later, an officer told me the only reason I didn't go through the windshield was because Jim slammed into the back of my seat and knocked me down into the floorboard. When I looked up, Jim was laying between the front seats, bleeding out of his nose and mouth. Jim has hemophilia, which means he bleeds way more than the average person. I immediately panicked because I thought he was going to die. I pulled myself up from where I was stuck, crawled over Jim, and climbed out through the

driver's side door to get to Bob. He was panicking and apologizing, and I kept telling him that he had to calm down because we had to help Jim and Lily. I tried to grab Bob's phone to call for help, but it was broken. It was dark. and I couldn't find anyone else's phone. Lily kept saying she thought her back was broken. She was bleeding badly from her face,

but we couldn't even tell where it was coming from. I told Bob to get her out of the car and go get help. My mom's house was about a mile from where we wrecked. Bob got Lily out and sat her down across the road. Then I pulled Jim out of the car. It took a lot of effort because he was stuck for a minute. When I finally got him out, his left leg was bent up. unnaturally, almost toward his head. I still can't forget what that looked like.

The reason I dragged them out was because I was terrified the car was going to catch fire. I don't even know why I thought of that. But it was my first serious crash and I was in full panic mode. I dragged Jim across the road and tried to keep him warm. It was cold that night. So I ran back to the car and grabbed anything I could to cover him up. He was unconscious for around 10 minutes. When he finally woke up, he had no idea what happened. Me, Jim, and my sister waited for help for what felt like forever. About 15 minutes later, I heard a truck coming, so I started jumping up and down in the middle of the road to flag it down. That road is out in the woods and barely anyone drives down it, so I knew it had to be someone

connected to us. It was my mom. She was already on the phone with 911, when she pulled away. She got my sister into the car right away, my stepdad stayed with me, and Jim until EMS finally arrived. It took about 45 minutes for help to get there. During that time, I sat on the ground with Jim crying. I genuinely thought he was going to bleed out and die because of his hemophilia. We kept telling each other how much we loves each other. We were both terrified. When EMS arrived, they ended up life-flighting him. I swear I told them he had a hemophilia a hundred times because I was so scared they wouldn't take it seriously. They took me and Lily by ambulance to the hospital.

Jim went to a different one. Bob went to the same hospital as us. Bob was 19, hanging out with 15 and 13-year-olds, and I felt like he should have known better. But I also blamed myself a lot, because even though my mom was an addict, she always told me never to ride with someone who had been drinking. and I still did. I encourage my little sister and my best friend to get in that car too. Jim was in the hospital for three weeks.

He broke his leg in three places and now has a metal rod in it. My sister has a scar on her chin because her seabelle broke and basically tore a chunk of her chin out. Thankfully, her back wasn't broken. Just really bad whiplash. I twisted my wrist and ankle and had bruising all over my leg. Bob had a spider web fracture in his foot. What makes me angry is that Bob told everyone the brakes failed.

They didn't. He just says that to make himself sound better. He got charged with contributing to minors, and now is it. He didn't serve time. He was on probation for six months. A week later, his grandma bought him a brand new car. I don't think he learned anything. It's been almost four years, and I still struggle with it constantly.

I have a really hard time riding in cars with people I don't know or people I just met. And even when I'm driving, all I can think about is how fast life can change. All it takes is one mistake, one decision, one second. And you can permanently injure someone or kill them. So please never drink and drive. And please be careful every single time you get behind the wheel. Thank you for letting me share my story. I hope someone can learn from it. I mercilessly bullied five people in high school. Three out of the five of them committed S-word.

I am in my 40s now and I don't deserve the life I have. I stepped on the backs of my classmates to make myself feel better about myself. I was bullied harshly in school and had the shit beat out of me on a daily basis until I hit puberty. Then I suddenly grew into a monster. I towered over everybody at school. I also channeled my anger into working out and became even bigger. I was a huge ogre of a person. I hated everybody.

I had so much angst built up from my own bullying. My former bullies, being the manipulative cowards that they were, I see this in retrospect, but didn't see it at the time, befriended me. and we pretty much held a reign of terror over the whole school. I fed on the newfound respect from my former enemies. We prayed on the week. There were about five nerds that I personally tormented harshly. I joined Facebook a couple months ago to see what became of them.

I had hopes that they were able to live a happy life despite my awful treatment of them. One, I knew died suspiciously in high school, but it turns out it was a S word that was covered up. Two more committed that's word right after high school graduation. The fourth lives alone in a trailer and appears to be crazy. The fifth person actually turned their life around and married the head cheerleader several years after graduation, so at least there's that. I wish I could apologize to the remaining too, but it would be so trite and meaningless. Plus, it would probably re-traumatize them, having to see me again.

or having to think about those events again. I suck. I'm sorry. And sometimes I feel like I should commit S word as well. You know, to balance these scales of life, I've been tormented my entire life for being the bully that I was, when I really should have been an advocate for the bullied instead. I mean, I already knew how it felt.

Instead of sticking up for people in beating the bully that I was, bully's asses, I, like a bitch, join them. I can never forgive myself for that. My adultery ruined my life. I hate myself for it. I'm writing this with a lot of pain in mind. I don't expect people to give me sympathy. I just wanted to share my stories so that people could take a lesson. So please, please, before you cheat on your husband slash wife slash partner, think about what you are giving up for a few minutes of pleasure. I, 37 male, married my wife Annie, 35 female, about 13 years ago. We dated for three years and tied the knot.

Our marriage was great. We were really happy. Suddenly she becomes pregnant. I know it is kind of our fault because we didn't use protection every time. We decided to keep the baby and our son, 10 male, was born. I thought our family was complete. but things drastically changed. My wife was always busy with our son.

She used to be this fit girl who was always radiant, but she just looked like a zombie to me. She didn't care about how she looked while she was in public. I started to feel resentment towards her. Before I did anything stupid, I talked to her and gave her an ultimatum that if she doesn't go back her normal shape, I would leave her.

She started to cry and say that she's always exhausted and doesn't have to. have time. I told her I would help her as much as I can, but looking back now, I did the bare minimum. The trouble came when she was again pregnant after five years. All the hard work she has done was down the drain. She gained a lot of weight. I avoided her. Just looking at her made me sick. I was either at the gym or at the bar. I was looking for excuses to not come home. That's when I met a girl at my gym. She was hot and had a nice body. She was also very much younger than I was, 20 female. We started talking. I felt alive again. I felt like someone is here in front of me

who appreciates me a lot. A few days later, I went to her house and we hooked up. It was like a drug to me. I didn't realize that I was becoming more and more distant with my family, so just like every cheater, I got caught. My wife found out that I was hooking up with someone else. She broke down in tears right in front of me, and she just kept repeating, how could you do this to me? You broke our family. At that time, I did something bad. I'm still ashamed of it. I yelled at her and called her a hag. I told her if she looked after herself, I wouldn't have cheated. That it is all her fault. My wife started laughing. It confused me. She said if I helped her, she might have had the time. I was never home and outside fucking some random girl. She told me she wanted a divorce. She told me she wanted a

divorce right there. I was really hateful towards her and said, fine. You can, but you really think any man would ever want you with your baggage, my kids? I could see it broke her and crushed her. I wanted that at the time. The divorce was settled. She only wanted the house. We shared the custody of the kids. The divorce felt like a relief. I could be with my girlfriend whenever I wanted to. But that is when I saw the changes. Whenever I was home, that I was home. house was not clean. There would be dishes in the sink for days. I remember looking at them and calling Annie, but Annie didn't live in my house. It became tougher when it was my weekend to have the kids. I realized I knew jack shit about my kids. My son was a picky eater. My daughter was still very little.

She would cry a lot. It was exhausting. No matter how much I try, my son would always complain about everything and tell me that's not how his mother did it. That wasn't the end of the problems. Things with my girlfriend became bland way too soon. My wife would always have a home-cooked meal ready for me. But my girlfriend is just happy to have leftover or frozen pizza for all she cares. I was sick of it. Intimate life was also very boring. My ex-wife was really great at being intimate. I never had any bad intimate experiences with her, but my girlfriend lacked imagination. Also, she has really one-dimensional personality. My son really picked on things.

He started to resent me. He was rude towards my girlfriend. My girlfriend would abuse him by calling him a brat. The last straw was when my son yelled at me and said that he hated me and my girlfriend would never be his mommy. It struck me like a thunder. Things ended with her right there. On the other hand, Annie started to change a lot.

She lost a lot of weight. She looked relaxed and like her old self. I once complimented her that she looked good. I only got a cold, thank you, back. I got to know from a mutual friend of ours that she would sometimes say that the divorce made her realize she deserved better. And things got better because she had some time for herself. Before that, she had to clean up my mess and now there's hardly any mess left.

I was hit with another realization that I treated her badly. I never helped her when she needed my help the most. Annie understood me. She was kind and passionate. She was just going through a rough phase and I kicked her to the curb. I went into depression. I asked Annie if she'd give me a chance. She said no.

I don't blame her. From my son, I got to know she started dating an old friend of hers. My son loves him. My daughter calls him dada. I tried my best for my daughter to call me that, but she didn't. I met them together at a business convention. That man had his arms around my Annie and was showing her off. I was angry.

I felt this rage inside of me. Later that night, I drank a lot and started to call Annie. I spooed nonsense that her new boy toy is nothing but a weak man that is dating a pathetic single mom like her. I know this because the next day, she came to my house along with my parents. My parents ripped me apart and said to stay the hell away from Annie. I lost my kids, my wife, and I already lost my parents after the divorce. I never felt so alone. I wake up on my bed empty. Annie would always cuddle me early in the morning.

I missed her warmth. Things between my son didn't improve. He probably knows why me and his mother aren't together. A few months ago, Annie dropped a bomb. She said that she was pregnant. That was the moment I knew I lost her forever. From that moment, whenever I went to her house to get my kids, I would see how her boyfriend basically worships her and takes care of her needs. If I wasn't so stupid or arrogant and helped her, cherished her, we would still be a happy family. I guess this is my punishment. I have to see another man play family with my Annie and kids. So please, please don't be like me. If you really cannot, just divorce or break up with that person. I've heard a lot of people,

because of my selfishness. And then the OP gives us an update, saying, it has been two months since I posted on this place. I know I deserve all the hate comments I got. I know I am a piece of shit. I deserve to be miserable. And to all those saying that it is rage bait and that I am a troll, I am not.

I needed a place to vent anonymously. I needed people to hear me. I knew that I would get hate messages. I know I deserve every ounce of hate you, guys have for me and even more, but I know I fucked up. I know I was an evil person for what I did. This will always have a huge hole in my heart. I know I have to carry this guilt throughout my life, but to those who said I should get some help, I did. I've been going to therapy for a long time now. Therapy has helped me a lot. It made me a bit lighter, but still I had guilt and shame in my heart.

I know I cannot go back in time and fix anything, but I am now trying my best so that I can be a better person than I was a few years ago. The first thing I did was begged for forgiveness from Annie. I told her I knew I was an asshole. She didn't deserve the way I treated her. She is a kind and sweet person. She always

has been. And this is my life's biggest regret that I treated her so horrible and all I want now is to be a good father to her son. And I wished her and her new family, good luck. I know she picked a better man and I hope she gets

everything she deserves. She said she forgives me, but she doesn't want any kind of relationship with, unless, of course, it is about the kids. I also sat down with my son and said sorry to him, too. I am an idiot that I didn't realize this whole thing put him in his sister in a weird position. I told both of them sorry individually. My son is still on the fence if he wants to forgive, but I try to be a better dad for them. I now understand I may never have the same kind of relationship with him, but I just want to do my duties as a father. I do not want them to become like me. Whenever they come to my place, I try to be more attentive towards them. My daughter does call me Papa now. I take them to get some ice cream or simply just on a fishing trip. My son likes to draw.

I got him some art supplies. I know this will not buy me as love, but I want him to have everything. He has been a little more open towards me. He sometimes asked for my help with him. He sometimes asked for my help his homework. Annie and I also decided that we should take our kids to therapy. They have been through a lot because of me, and I accept the responsibility of the fallout. Lastly, I'm not thinking about dating anyone. I know I do not deserve love in any way, shape, or form. Moreover, I do not want to include any new person in my already messed up life. Maybe in a few years, but not now. Right now, I just want to focus on my kids. Thanks to all of you who gave me some advice.

It helped and thanks for listening. I held on too long and all it did was hurt my daughter. My daughter had multiple congenital birth defects that led to a lifetime of complications. With medically complex kids, you fix one problem and create two more. She lived 11 years. It was probably nine years too long. She lived most of life in hospitals, literally months at a time. She would sometimes be home a week or two and then end up back in it.

I don't think she ever spent more than two consecutive months out of the hospital in her entire life until she went on palliative care. She was more comfortable in the hospital than anywhere else. How sad is that? She was the warrior kid. That was her whole identity. Making cards for her nurses and decorating her medical equipment and being tough with a capital T. That was all she had.

Never went to school. Not in any meaningful capacity. Never played a sport or an instrument. Never had any real friends to speak of. Never had the health to take up any real hobbies. Just an entire life made up of surgeries, shots and nurses in fucking medical equipment to decorate. I gave her a pathetic life.

There wasn't a single intervention I wasn't willing to put her through to buy more time. She was the happiest, most accepting kid I've ever met, but in the last six months she was done. I refused to listen. She asked me over and over again if she could just stop. I'd push until she shut up and went along with what I wanted. Why did I do that? She wanted to make me happy, but she knew she was done.

Selfish. She died incredibly agitated and upset. I think she was scared to let go because she knew what it was going to do to me. I wasn't strong enough to let go. I'm so, so sorry. One of the top comments reads, What you and her both went through is horrific, and I cannot imagine the guilt that must not at you.

Her pain is gone now, and she suffers no more. Her life was one of suffering, and that became your burden as well. There is something here for you to learn, something profound in healing. I urge you to work on forgiving yourself for the most normal animal instinct in the world, keeping our children alive. You did your best and never gave up hope. She touched lives and the earth was better. off for her being here, even if her life wasn't traditional or very long. She loved you,

and you loved her. That is a miracle, and that is enough. Please work on forgiving yourself and continuing to love others. And the OPE responds to this and says, thank you. This is what I needed to hear right now. My life was certainly better for having known her. She really was a great kid. Everyone says that, but She really was. I ended my ex-best friend's career, ruining her life. Title, basically.

This was a few years ago. I used to be friends with this girl in college. We'll call her Jackie. And we're both pursuing our nursing degrees. We got along really well for a majority of the school year except towards the end. I began liking a boy,

who she knew about, and then had intimate time with him anyways. We both talked about it, and she understood how hurt I was and promised never to do something like that again. Fast forward to nearing our graduation, like a year later. Another boy I had been seen for a while who came to our place for a pre-party. We all left at the same time. Jackie and I shared an apartment, and then went to the party. Jackie left and so did the boy. I figured they were both going to campus together since we had apartments next to each other, and so I just stayed with the rest of my group.

I came back only to hear them having intimate time. I was devastated. He was my boyfriend. And I finally thought I found the one. It was a few short months. Yes, but still, he was so sweet and I thought he cared about me. I knew I needed to get back at her for hurting me. And here is how I did.

We both smoke weed heavily. After graduation, I still was pretending to like her. We both moved back home, which ironically was close to each other, and began working at the same hospital as nurses, different units. Our hospital had a strict drug policy, which forbid any drug use. I stopped smoking, but she didn't. I would always convince her to, and I'd just have a drink or pretend to take a hit from it. Sometimes I'd even fake roll one and just smoke a cigarette while she smoked weed. After, After about two months of me stopping weed, and her continuing, I left an anonymous note on my

manager's desk saying, Jackie is high now. You need to test her. She would never go to work high, just smoke a day before her shift. She was never, ever inebriated while working. Well, about one hour later, occupation health came and everyone. Doctors, techs, unit clerk, cleaning staff, etc. was tested on the unit to prevent any discrimination. and if you left, you'd be breaking policy and risk termination.

Jackie immediately texted me after freaking out in the break room that she needed to talk. I ran up and faked to have no idea and was comforting her saying it'd be fine and nothing to worry about. One week later, terminated. She violated the drug policy, which results in immediate termination. She was blacklisted at the hospital and all nearby ones as well. Because of the state I was in to New York at the time, it was a controlled substance, which made it especially bad. We worked at that hospital for only a few months. Now, she has only been able to work in a local office as a nurse slash receptionist, making about a quarter of what she could have been.

No other job will hire her. Maybe one a few states away would, but I'm not sure. Do I regret this? Yes. I was an asshole. and fucked up. Bad. Will I ever tell her?

Probably not. But is karma a bitch? Certainly. I lied and took a company asset home. I got caught, fired, and four years later, I still regret it.

This happened four years ago, and I still think about it almost every day. I worked in an IT department for eight years. and part of my job was managing company assets. There was a TV in storage that hadn't been used for years. Nobody ever mentioned it.

Nobody cared about it. At least, that's what I told myself. So I decided to take it home. But I didn't just take it quietly. I made up a story and filled out a request form saying I was moving the TV to a supplier's location. a complete lie. The truth is, I was taking it home for myself.

I created that fake excuse to make it seem legitimate, and I handed the form in like everything was fine. The guard saw me taking the TV, took a picture, and reported it. That's how I got exposed. Everything escalated fast. It became a big issue in the company. I returned the TV within a few days, but the damage was already done.

At the time, I was so defensive. I told myself, it's just a TV. What's the big deal? I felt like people were overreacting and gossiping unnecessarily. But in truth, I had lied, manipulated the system, and broken trust. My boss was disappointed. They didn't say much. They just ended my contract quietly.

I didn't get a chance to explain. I lost my job, and even worse, I lost all of my friends there. People cut me off, unfollowed or blocked me on social media. No one reached out. No one asked me what really happened. I became the center of gossip, even among people who had already left the company. I know what I did was wrong. I was manipulative, I was persistent, I thought I could get away with it.

And now, years later, it still haunts me. I miss my coworkers, not even one person in particular, just the group moments, the laughter, the feeling of belonging. I didn't take the TV because I needed it. I think I just wanted a small, win, a sense of control, something that felt like mine in a job where I felt invisible. I regret it deeply, and I don't know if people ever really forgive you for something like this, but I needed to get it off my chest.

My wife of 13 years confessed about an affair about three months ago. She told me the day after our anniversary that they had intimacy often. I don't know what to do. The title pretty much explains it all. I am a stay-at-home data three, including one with special needs. For the past couple of years, it's been a slog. Therapist after therapist after therapist for my kiddo with cerebral palsy. Two other kids in school, it's something we discussed many times.

She works and is able to provide for us financially, and I would stay home with them. Two years ago, she joined a gym and began a relationship with John. John and my wife would frequently message on Facebook about random things, but things that my wife tried to hide and delete. She has lied about speaking to him, what they've spoken about, amongst other things. We are done having kids, so she used this time to get a breast augmentation and time. tummy tuck like procedure. It felt like she was literally going to cheat on me, but she assured

me that this was just her way of getting out of her motherhood body. She spends an unworldly amount of time at the gym. Before work, off days, literally doesn't stop. She can easily spend three to four hours at the gym. Meanwhile, I am at home with the kids, preparing lunch, breakfast, getting them to school, taking my child with cerebral palsy to his therapy appointments, things start to get worse. I find that I'm getting more frustrated with feeling like a single parent while she is just living her dream life at the gym and building a career. She feels like I'm treating her unfairly and takes her rings off last summer. She didn't tell me about it, but she is stating that we are separated, but no ground rules are laid out. She continues to live her life with her rings off,

without any sort of discussion. We were definitely in a slump. My skepticism of her and John's relationship continues, but we hit hills and valleys in our relationship. It feels that sometimes it improves, and some days it feels like it wasn't going to work. We had laid out some rules about this guy, and I asked her to delete him from her phone and block him. They can communicate at the gym since she's there so much, but nowhere else. Flash forward to June. I found a text message thread while I tried fixing her phone with a random number. It was messages upon messages of hers and John's relationship.

Mind you, this guy is married as well. My suspicions for over two years was true. I knew she was cheating on me. I flipped out. I was so upset. She said they didn't have any physical contact, except for holding hands and hugging. She was extremely adamant that that was it.

Things didn't feel like they would get better, but eventually they kind of did over a couple of months. That, or maybe I was missing, who my wife was. I don't know, but it felt that an emotional fare was easier to forgive. I told her I forgave her and that we were recommitted of making this work. It felt like we were more normal than ever, and she was being open and honest about my questions that I had. The day after her anniversary, she drops a bombshell. She actually was physical in her affair. They had intimacy and unknown amount of times in his car while she was at work. She says they wore

protection. I am so mortified. I already grieved for her once, but now I put through another round of mental torment and physical PTSD. She lied again. She said she didn't have intimacy with him initially, but now she wanted to lay it out. She says the last time they had intimacy was in April. I don't know what to believe. She says she felt insanely lonely. I asked her why. I asked her why not just get a divorce. And she said that she never had that intention and that she, quote, care so deeply for our family and kids. It feels so contradictory. She had intimacy with this guy while also having intimacy with me occasionally. And she didn't feel the need to tell me that I'm literally banging her after this guy was. Jesus Christ. Typing this out makes me want to die.

I am using an alt account, but I have details that would make this story more clear, but I do not want to tie it in to some personal information, as I think I'd be pretty easily identified by my profession and personal posts. She states she is utterly remorseful and wants to work things out. I literally just got myself tested for STDs today. I would have never thought I would have to do this, but here I am. I am out of lost, guys. I'm a mid-30s dad of three, and it feels like my life is fucking over.

My kids keep me grounded. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One user quotes, care so deeply for our family and kids. And then the comments or replies to that saying, three to four hours at the gym every day, when is she even home to care so deeply about the kids? And the O.P replies saying,

This is exactly my point. She literally goes to the gym in the early morning, but sometimes doesn't get home until kids are on the bus. I would hate to miss waving them off. I wave them off every morning. One user comments, First things first, you should make an appointment with a lawyer

and a marriage counselor if you so choose. Have them both spell out your options as well as what custody looks. looks like that's where you can work from as your base. Everything has failed and we're getting a divorced spot. Next step is to figure out, do you actually want to reconcile? Has your wife actually shown you any form of forgiveness? Does her a fair partner's wife know?

I would personally make that a condition that the wife has to know before anything else happens. If your wife tries to defend him, tell her, and no uncertain terms. that you guys are over if she tries to defend him whatsoever. She has to choose you versus him and ask to actually do the work. She has basically had a she gets to do whatever she wants while you maintain the house lifestyle and that needs to change. You need a social life and the whole reason that she had enough time to go cheat was that you were maintaining everything at home while she could get off scot-free and do whatever

the hell she wanted. The fact is that she chose him over you multiple times and you have to tell her that is what she did. Does she recognize the enormity of what she did by choosing to step out of your marriage multiple times, including around your anniversary? Does she realize that she was giving you sloppy seconds? Whether or not she was actually doing that? That is the actual effect of what she did. She has to realize that she did not choose you and chose herself.

Honestly, I would also have a big problem with forgiveness because how many times did she turn you down for emotional and physical intimacy while providing it to someone else outside of the marriage? How much time did she spend outside of your marriage with somebody else due to the direct efforts that you have put in to keep your family going? Did she not realize that the only reason she had time to do anything was your sacrifice? I would say this for any gender, but this is selfish. I just want to let you know your pain is justified, and frankly, I don't know if she wants to rug sweep and move on, but I don't know exactly how she's shown remorse and what effort she's actually putting in in order to move your relationship back to a trusting one. thoughts? And then the O.P. Reply is saying, I'm reading through this. I will add. When I found said

text messages, the first thing she said was, quote, she cares about him, which really pissed me off. She should care about me as her husband. She finally has told him no more contact, and she blocked him on every platform, and said that she is willing to have an open device policy. I do think this is extremely remorseful, at least right now. He has made some suggestive comments as a way to make her feel bad. She did put her rings back on and the guy wants to reconcile to me as well, aka he reached out to me on Instagram and I immediately blocked his dumb ass. Another user says, I've said this before on this sub that if my spouse was the one to come clean about an affair, I'd be likely to try to work it out, but this is just, this is just a disaster.

If you decide to stay, and that's a big if, number one, couples counseling, number two, quitting the gym. Number three, spending time with her newly available free time with the kids she allegedly cares deeply for. But this all hinges on one question. Do you even want to work things out? Seriously, ignore everything I do. just suggested. Ignore any stay, leave crucifier in the divorce or other comments. Take some time

and really ask yourself, do you want to try to work this out? And then a comment replies to that saying, thank you for putting this question into words that I've been trying to do myself in another thread. The real question is, what is she doing to want to make them stay? And the O.P. replies saying, that's what I'm thinking. From the beginning, I'm convinced she had a plan or deep intention, but she says things just kind of fell that way. Yeah, right. She says they were just friends first,

but if that's the case, why did she delete all of her messages from him when I first saw them? That first happened like one and a half years ago. This has been shitty since the start. Another user comments, your mistake was thinking any sort of affair would be less harmfully. An affair is an affair, regardless getting physical or not. Have you wondered why did she have this surge of honesty so suddenly?

I imagine her affair has gone sour. She's afraid being dumped by you and is trying to keep you around. I won't be the one to tell you how you should take on your life, O.P., you are the only one who knows how hard this hurt. hurt you and how bad you are right now. However, I'd recommend you to take your feelings in consideration this time. May you find the inner strength to take the best decision for your happiness and for your emotional health. And the OPE replies saying, you're not wrong. Things did get sour after I found these texts. She immediately ceased that relationship and blocked him. I think that's why she wants to start fresh and continue our relationship.

She's given me contradictory information that it only happened because she was separated and she was extremely lonely. But then she said she doesn't want to leave her family and that we mean so much to her? I asked her plainly, did you think about us when you were banging in his car? And then we don't hear an update for a long time, about three months, but then three months later, The OP comes back and gives us an update. Let's get into it. Mild update.

My wife of 13 years confessed about an affair about three months ago. She told me the day after our anniversary that they had intimacy often. I debated on whether or not I really wanted to write an update or not. Life has been really a whirlwind of emotion since that point. For all those people who gave me encouragement and advice, I really appreciate you more than you know. We sought counseling pretty much ASAP since all this shook out, which has been a somewhat positive experience, I think for both of us.

Overall, this update is really boring, but maybe I need an outlet right now because I'm feeling it hard today. Generally speaking, things just are right now. Some days feel more hopeful than others, but we are decently committed to making this work out for now, especially given our situation with our kids, specifically our son. Our therapy sessions tend to work on our communication and forward progress.

It's hard not to gripe or look for some sort of validation of my frustrations with my wife about how things shook out or what I experienced. Although she's entitled to her feelings about how I approached their relationship in the beginning, which she swears was merely friendly in the beginning. Although the more I think about it, the more it feels like I'm being gaslit by my wife and maybe a little bit by our therapist. I generally do not have a problem with my wife having male friends.

And even when we were having a hard time, I felt that I made my boundary extremely clear. Initially, when they were just friends, she would message him like regularly, going into topics that felt boundary crossing. In this, she says they were just friends. But now, I don't think I'm comfortable with her having friends like that again. And I told her that.

I am a little upset because reflecting on things now makes me feel like both my wife and our therapist made it seem I'm letting my anxiety get the best of me. We have moved toward an open device policy, really on her end. We have set new boundaries about relationships and maintaining these relationships. Although now that I read and typed this out, I really feel like I'm giving more than what she ever had to, even though she's the one who decided to pursue a runaway relationship with another man. She states she didn't feel safe in our marriage and pursued this relationship. I'm so conflicted on how to feel about everything as I typed this. I am learning to rebuild my trust in her.

I need to feel safe again. I want to feel like this was her character. character flaw, rather than a reaction to how she felt I treated her. She says she felt unsafe, frustrated, unloved. I'm not saying those things aren't untrue because she is entitled to her own feelings, but it feels like an excuse. Things were rocky for a while, but she feels that we were not doing well before I had issues with her communication with this guy. That feels incorrect because since that moment, I know I've been short with her and with good reason. She literally lied about the regular and the amount of communication they had together.

It feels like I'm being gassily because she made it seem like friends have that regular amount of communication. Some days we end in fights, mainly about my tone or my reaction. It feels like a broken record. She constantly criticizes how I communicate with her or our kids. It feels like it never ends and this is something she continually goes back to as a reason for her abandonment. But some days, it feels like it ends more peacefully and calmly. I guess going back to why I decided to write today was really about feeling worthless.

I feel absolutely unfit and unworthy. I let my wife trample on me and she makes me feel that it really was my fault for her actions. It feels that the therapist also wants me to understand these flaws. and how they shape the events that happened. I don't know, but maybe the therapist is right. I am noticeably anxious about anything my wife does, and I feel that it won't change. I will always worry about who she's talking to.

She says she's committed to our relationship, but it feels like such a shitty excuse. I told her, that's what you said on our wedding day. And look at this fucking mess. I wish my update contained more substance. I wish part of me could say I left her cheating ass, got alimony slash child support, got abs and met someone new. I can't do that right now.

I try to stay busy at work and at home. Edit. Just for clarity's sake, my wife did make it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with him in more ways than one. He's been finding ways to continue. to see her attention. He even wrote an email to her, and she showed me immediately. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, I'm sorry, dude. I guess you decided to say, I know I wouldn't. It's easier said than done, yes, but she lied, lied, and lied. I'm sure

there's more lies than there, too. In the O.P replies saying, my decision to stay, isn't set in stone. It's built on the idea that we are extremely fragile and she has to put in the work. If not, or if she crosses our transparent boundary, I'm not giving her a third chance. Another commenter says, I'm curious, have you informed his wife? Has she cut contact with him? Does she still go to the gym? What is she doing to make this work on her end? Please elaborate. I'm genuinely curious. I would like to know how you're going to be able to move forward in this. I'm sorry you are going through this.

Update me. And the OPE here applies saying, As far as I know, he and his wife are separated and made that in agreement. So to him and his wife, he was within his own rights. That's all hearsay, though. And I'd rather not think about it anymore. Does my wife go to the gym? Buddy, let me tell you.

She's still addicted to it. Goes every day in the a.m. Since me and our kids are still sleeping. Still works out for three to four hours at a time usually. Although she is quite social when she goes, which is why it takes her so long. She finds that her identity really relies on her ability to maintain this gym time I've noticed. I think if you took it away from her, I don't know what she would do. And a user replies to that.

saying, fine, I can understand that gym, but is it the same gym? Like, is this just business as usual? They still attend the gym together? Please, I hope not. You can't be that naive. There has to be some consequences, at least in my experience. If nothing changes, nothing changes. What had she done exactly in this reconciliation to prove to you that you're not her second choice? and the opier plies and says, It is not the same gym, although it's funny when she bitches about not being able to go there, mainly because of her old friend group and proximity to her house.

It makes me want to stare at her and laugh as if she didn't cause that entire problem. Another commenter says, Fire your therapist. Whoever they are, they suck. You need to find one specializing in infidelity who will hold her. her feet to the fire. Unless your therapist holds the line that no matter what was going on in the marriage, cheating is inexcusable, and that the first priority is to deal with your pain and the nuclear bomb that your wife chose to blow up in the middle of your marriage. They're crap and

completely unqualified to do their job. Good luck. And the opiore replies saying, She has tried EMDR therapy for my trauma. I believe they are qualified. qualified at least somewhat, but I wish she would be more assertive about protecting me, given what transpired. Although, to that effect, I know she needs to remain neutral, so I'm not sure what good therapy looks like. Another commenter says, Find a new couple's therapist because your sounds very biased, and I really suggest individual therapy because you need a space away from her to work through this. In the opier blood, saying, I agree, I think individual therapy would really help me.

Another commenter said, never ever be a stay-at-home dad. Women lose all respect for their spouses when they become stay-at-home dads. Get a job, pronto. And then the opi responds and says, I've said this ad nauseum. I have a PRN job. My special needs son has a plethora of. therapist he sees. He needs some type of stable transportation. And that is the last update we have received from the OP. And to be honest, I'm kind of curious what he ends up doing because they don't

seem like they have a stable relationship at all. And most likely he will end up divorcing her. I mean, I would. And I feel like a lot of people in the comments were suggesting that, that he divorced him because it clearly is not a relationship that has trust in it. I mean, he even said He can't trust his wife or who she's talking to, and he's very scared of who she's talking to all the time. That just doesn't seem healthy. It doesn't seem like he'll be able to sustain itself. I really hope the OP gets therapy, and hopefully he'll be able to work out the relationship, whether that is divorce or trying to rebuild the broken relationship they have.

My mom and sister starved themselves to death because of my mom's psychosis. and I have to deal with the aftermath. In 2020, my mom and sister died together in a locked apartment, along with my mom's friend. They didn't die in an accident or from illness. They starved themselves to death. Together, in the middle of summer. My mother had developed paranoid schizophrenia, but the diagnosis came post-mortem on my request. in desperation to get some answers.

She believed my father was trying to harm them and isolated herself and my sister from everyone. For one and a half years, they lived in fear, completely cut off. She also believed they could survive without food and water by absorbing energy from the universe. Her mental illness spiraled into something so extreme, she convinced my sister to follow her. And she did. They were found about five days after death, but the police had no exact. day of their deaths because, of course, they did not die at the same time, but hours or days from one another. Three bodies, actually. My mother, my sister, and a delusional friend of hers who died

with them. By the time they were discovered, they were in such a decomposed state that the police couldn't even identify which body was whose, not even by hair. That's how bad it was. We had to run DNA testing, dental records, three dead bodies in the heat. locked in, door barricaded, I wasn't there. But my mind was, and still is. I've never read the police reports. I've never visited the place where their ashes are. I still can't believe they're gone.

And I feel this weird, almost sick obsession with the grotesque details, the smell, the state of their bodies, what the forensic team saw. Sometimes I Google crime scenes or more. cases because my mind is stuck there. I imagine what it looked like. I can't stop imagining it. I've built a life. I've run my own business. I've survived, but I triggered by things like rotting fruit, the smell, the texture. It all sends my body into a panic. People ask me about my family and I smile and lie. They joke about crazy people and I laugh along. I've never told my clients. I've never written this down before, but it lives in me. I feel guilty for not saving them.

For the trauma the police and forensic workers had to endure. For my sister, who was 29 and could have walked away, but didn't. And sometimes I just feel nothing, just this heavy silence. If anyone else out there has lived through the same kind of trauma, you can't put it into words, if you've ever wanted to scream and vanish and be held all at once, I see you. Thank you for reading this. I don't know what I want from it. Maybe just did not hold it alone anymore. And then the OP makes an edit saying,

posting this has been one of the most healing things in my grieving process. I had no idea it would be such a relief to be able to share my story and getting so much support. It hurts that some people might not believe that the story is true. Maybe it just shows how horrible the events were and how it must be hard for anyone to process the case. Trust me on this. The police were so empathetic and equally shocked that something like this can find place. There's no way anyone could have prevented this during the pandemic.

Also, yes, I got help from AI to put into words. What happened to me and my feelings, don't blame me for that. Thank you so, so much for all your kind words and sharing your stories. I hope this post will be a safe space for us to. share in Venton and be a memory of my loved ones who don't suffer anymore. I have read every single comment of yours. Edit 2. One of the most healing things for me after posting this was, I have finally found peace finding out that there is a actual concept of Folly de Du, which is a shared madness or shared delusion. Even if only one person is suffering from actual paranoia

and psychosis, it can spread on to others under right in unfortunate conditions. It makes me stop questioning things and finally finding peace with how and what happened. Thank you very much to those who brought this up to clarify and help me answer the biggest questions of them all. Why? I'm 21 and I'm going to die a horrible death. This is long. It's literally my life's story.

I don't have a TLDR, maybe with a TLDR. title says, I guess, plus more of these. Pain, disease, death. I'm from Albania, originally. My family, mom, dad, and I came to Greece 20 years ago. Life wasn't that great, but it was simple. We were poor. Dad had slash has schizophrenia. Home life was rough on me and mom. She divorced him when I was 12. He went back to Albania. I didn't really talk to him that much. We, He lived with my mom after the divorce. Changed homes. Everything was fine.

She was working. I was studying. Not trying my best, but doing good. Fast forward to when I was 17. Last year, high school. My mom was in a relationship with a man who lived in England. She was happy. I was indifferent.

But she was happy. It all started with a pain in her left arm. She immediately thought it from back when my dad had strained it in one of his attacks. She had never gone to the doctor about it because of work. She just bandaged it herself and suffered through. Her pain was getting worse. Movement was getting worse. She couldn't work any more cleaning houses. My mom went to rheumidologists, orthopedists, finally to neurologists. She was hospitalized. Was a bit of in and out. They couldn't find anything. We went on holiday. The two of us and her boyfriend who funded it, of course. We hadn't really gone on holidays before then. She had problems

walking, got tired easily. In one of her walks, her legs shakes so bad she fell. I thought, we thought, it was her shoes. They were new, bought by her boyfriend. She wasn't really used to high heels. It wasn't the shoes. Back to the hospital. I was staying alone at home. It was university at minutes exam period. I got in the school I wanted. Great news. Call my mom who was at the hospital. She lit up. I could hear it in her voice. A week later, me and my uncle, her brother who lives in Greece, were called in the hospital. The three of us in the doctor's office, my mom got diagnosed with motor neuron disease. The neurologist didn't really tell all the details. He lied. It may leave and come back sometime in the future, maybe 10 years down the road.

He didn't tell us how horrible it is. He didn't tell us, my mom will die. That there is no cure currently, just trials. In fact, he didn't really help or guide me in any way. It was like she was never as patient. I promised her I would take care of her,

no matter what. I promised her something will turn out good for us. No way. In a year, so much can happen, Mom. We will look back and laugh. Everything will go fine. Day by day, it was worse. She was telling me, and I was seeing it.

I tried to go to school to not upset her. Promise me, you will go to school. You will study. You are strong, she said. I tried not to cry in front of her. I cried every time on the way there and on the way back. It was getting worse. I couldn't bear the thought of going to school.

My mom was at home like that, so I skipped a lot. Sometimes her boyfriend came, stayed for a while, helped. He didn't live here, though. He left again to work. Then my mom's mother came, my grandma. She helped around two. They all had planned for my mother to go to them, my grandparents in Albania, when things get even worse. She told me, no, I will take care of you, mom, no matter what.

She was worried about my mental health. She was worried about me seeing her die. She was worried about my school. The day came. We got her into Albania. She would stay at my grandparents with them, lived my mom's older brother, married with two children. I had to return back.

I stayed with my mom's younger brother, who lives in Greece, married too, with two children as well. I video called my mom every day. Her voice started to change. As her voice was getting worse, my soul was getting ripped apart. I went another time up there.

She was having a lot of problems. Huge back pain, couldn't even sit on the wheelchair, needed to rotate her when she slept. She couldn't really sleep. She was uncomfortable and in continuous pain. Around that time, she told us that she will need breathing support. We got it. She felt better.

Around that time came her boyfriend too. We're all there. He left a day before I did. She said, you are all leaving. Mom, we will always be there for you. Always love you. Why did I go back to Greece? She was telling us her parents are getting on her nerves that she can't live another minute there.

So grateful for my uncle's wife, she was enormously helpful and kind to my mother there. Sometime later, I was planning on going again. But as I surprised, I thought, I'll go at the end of the week. Friday. Attend my classes in lab and then stay for a long while. I had a hard time understanding my mom on the call those days. She also seemed in such a really worse mood and complain about my grandparents. They were turning her insane, I thought to myself.

Well, me surprising her might brighten her mood at least. Thursday. Phone call to my uncle. He was crying. He was calling his wife. He told me we were leaving today. I knew. I didn't ask.

I was silent the whole drive. My uncle was speeding like a maniac. We got stopped, but he talked. his way out of it. We are under my grandparents' house, felt like 200 people were on the balcony outside of the apartment floor. I knew. An uncle of my mom's was waiting us down the hall. He took my hand. Be strong. Your mother will want you strong. She is not in a good condition. I didn't talk. We climbed the stairs slowly. I entered the room slowly. A lot of women, old, young, were sitting on the couch. I looked to my mom. She wasn't awake. Her eyelids were half open. She was hardly breathing.

I told my grandma to make the people inside leave. She told me I can't. You will. I talked to my mom. I hugged her, not tight because I remember she would be in pain or not breathe easily. I told her about my grade on math. I'd gotten a 10. I'll make you proud, mom. I love you and always will. Please watch over me and I'll make you proud. My grandma told me it's time to go. My uncles and my cousin took me to a cafe down the road. I lived with my uncle in Greece afterwards. For about a year, I changed schools, mechanical engineering to electrical and computer engineering.

Let's make a change. I tried to be a bit more social. I found some new friends and through them met a wonderful girl. So glad I changed schools. Second semester I moved to the dormitory to live alone. Close to school, away from my uncle. We got together with that girl. We clicked from the moment we first talked.

Beautiful, smart, funny. School was hard, but I didn't mind that much. I was doing great. She was doing great too. We were happy together. Happy. Third year. First semester.

My uncle who lives in Albania fell while he was working. He took a leave. His leg kept getting worse. He was fearing it was the same thing. Everyone reassured him otherwise. Me too. There's no way. It was already so rare for her.

What kind of odds would it be? She was 39 years old. It was the same thing. Five months ago, he died. I couldn't visit because of the pandemic. I still haven't. Third year. Second semester.

This semester was really hard, full of assignments and work. Every single day, work and pressure. The semester ended. Exam period was starting. We still had assignments due, though, 4 a.m. three months ago, about to say good night to my lovely girlfriend. My left hand trembles like crazy. For what seemed like 10 minutes, definitely way less.

I took a video sent it to her. Don't worry about it, honey. If it still persists, we'll see about it. Don't search symptoms like you do. We said good night. I googled hand tremor. Long list of causes. anxiety, stress, blood pressure, etc.

Well, I've been really stressed. At the very end of the list, ALS. I dropped my phone. I try not to think about it. I had a panic attack. I called her. She came almost immediately. I love her.

I want to marry her. I'm saying to myself. I noticed my pinky falling, and I got more scared. Touching things and lifting them felt different. I knew. My girlfriend kind of moved in with me. I went to a lot of neurologists, to a lot. They all did clinical examinations, didn't see anything. They all thought it was psychosomatic, that I was afraid because of family history. I didn't ever think of the possibility of me

getting it now, though. I didn't even know the possibility of me having the same gene was 50%. I had an EMG, turned out fine, had MRIs, blood test turned out fine. I hoped otherwise, so something other than that would be the cause. Everyone around me started to believe it was in my head too. It drove me crazy. Almost every day I was thinking of going to a doctor. Let's get this over with. I was seeing myself get worse every day.

Every day, some muscle was spashing out. My wonderful girlfriend, the love of my life, was with me the whole time. I don't know what I would do without her. Two weeks ago, I had a second EMG. still fine. Then five days ago had a clinical examination. It took longer. I could hear the doctor's frustration.

I could see that everything was worse. Even my facial muscles. Scariest part. We had planned vacations. We were supposed to leave out at the 25th. Four days from now. We were happy. I was happy.

I love her with all my heart. I'm 21 and I have ALS. I feel horrible because I realize I despise my schizophrenic 19-year-old stepson, but there comes a point where you have to stop clinging to the memory and accept the monstrous reality of what they are now. We've worked so hard to try and ensure my stepson had a good chance at a normal life. Life was bliss until he entered

middle school. When he was skipping school daily to smoke cannabis or dabble in psychedelics, resulting in schizoaffective symptoms at age 13. I was the one that removed him from two schools and finally homeschooled him to stop him for making his schizophrenic symptoms worse by toking with his friends off school property every chance they got. Cannabis normally never hurts, except those who have a strong predisposition for schizophrenia onset.

He was stabilizing eventually, and we were able to bring him up to visit his biological mother for that summer. Later that summer, his biomomom showed two weeks early and dumped him on the front step, her trying to escape having to talk with us because he was fully delusional

and hallucinating. She and her boyfriend had been supplying him with cannabis and pills, despite knowing his clinical diagnosis. For at least nine weeks, he was smoking joints or chewing pills and allowed to refuse his antipsychotic meds. The damage was done and permanent. From there on, it was just an incredible challenge just getting him to take his antipsychotic meds

to prevent him from flying into incredibly violent rages due to delusions or confabulations. He became so diminished in cognitive ability and very, violent and confrontational, he never finished a grade in high school. I exhausted so much effort to get him special classes, special ed teachers that were trained for kids with his disorder, back and forth schedules, so many doctors, and just when a plan would start to play out, he would completely ruin all of our hard work by throwing a desk at his teacher in class, picking daily fights with kids, refusing to write anything,

violently attempting to assault doctors or clinic personnel, attempting to assault me or his father every couple of months, forcing us to have him admitted into a long-term mental health facility. We became that family that had a police car out front hauling our son away every few months. We lived in a very nice neighborhood, and it was incredibly embarrassing, and sad to be viewed with sympathy or awkward curiosity by neighbors.

When he went to visit his mother again, he put her in the hospital by fracturing her face because she refused to give him a cigarette. This happened six weeks before his 18th birthday, so no actual charges or helpful consequences. Not even a record. In order to keep him off the street, we first tried housing him in studios or small apart.

which he was promptly evicted to aggressively harassing other tenants for cigarettes or money, regardless of how much money we left him. The same happened with hotels, but that is not the worst of it. It is how he treats his father. He tells his dad that dad must take care of him, and dad has no choice. He tells his father that he has to buy him whatever he wants because of his illusion that whatever property we own is really his. We are there to serve him. When he does not get what he wants, he starts massively violent fights, which forces his father to retreat and leave. I demanded we stop providing shelter and food support for a short period due to his behavior. And when our son was tired of being homeless and hungry for a few days,

he would beg for help, acting good only until he got what he wanted. The cycle would repeat over and over. Social services? Mental health court? Applying for adult guardianship? SSI applications? What a fucking sick joke. If you all do not want the monster I'm describing walking freely on these streets potentially victimizing you, stop allowing your state to slash funds and under-regulates mental health services. Help get housing and supportive services to these people that need it. Help push legislation that helps family members get protective guardianship that includes rock solid supportive services and rights for these caretakers.

When I reached the breaking point, when his father would provide a cell phone, just to ensure we have some way of communicating with him and making sure he was okay. He carelessly drops and smashes it right in front of his dad. He picks it up, laughs, and smashes it as hard as he can on purpose to make sure it was destroyed.

and casually remarks, well, it looks like time for you to buy me a new phone. No. I did not allow his father to buy a new phone. I nearly had him answer a call from felony of Soldsville, the connecting operator, my fist. Instead of washing his clothes with the soap we have left, he throws away his dirty clothes and demands we buy him new clothes. He will take a few bites of really high quality and expensive food I would prepare, and without a second thought, dump his full plate of pristine food right into the trash because he wasn't hungry. I would ask him why he would throw it away and not simply put the plate in his fridge to eat later.

Because he has money anyways, or he did not have to explain to me why. He is a man. Okay, Mr. Man, what is in the trash is your food budget for the next rest of the week? What? You're a man. Deal with it. And the horror goes on and on. I have gotten to the point that I actually want my stepson to accomplish pissing off the wrong person and being imprisoned or worse. The burden he has placed on our shoulders would be manageable. If he was not so despicable, regardless of his disease, I will not allow that to excuse or justify his repungent actions. By telling a schizophrenic that their disease makes him an asshole, they will confabulate that reality and make it a fact. By telling him his wasteful behavior, violence, or disregard of the sacrifices of others

is not his fault due to schizophrenia. You are enabling him to become much, much worse. He will latch onto that idea that he is untouchable or blameless for anything he does and will react violently if you attempt to call him on it. The pain etched on my husband's face is hard to permit. I want to spring to his defense and pummel the perpetrator. I understand the immense instinctual obligation my husband must feel because if our daughter was in the same position, I would be doing whatever I could as well. As a stepmother, I can inexplicably remove myself emotionally from my adult stepson. A biological father or mother cannot simply flip that switch.

I had to give up on her stepson a few years ago. For myself and my family. It was unbearably painful for me to see all of the work we put into a trying to give him at least a small chance at a normal, mediocre life. And my stepson would gleefully do whatever he could to unravel every plan we made. Staying up and planning out clothes and discussing what he should probably say to the judge to reduce the likelihood of a bad outcome. Morning, fuck you parents, he refused to dress and walked out the door saying that he did not have to go to court because, the judge was not God, and he is only accountable to God. We work tirelessly at helping him apply for SSI benefits and a halfway home-slash-assisted

living for people with similar mental health issues. Fuck you, parents. I am not going to sign the SSI application because I am going to become a famous fucking rapper, and you guys owe me like 60 grand anyways. I am going to live at my own hotel. He was trespassed from that hotel. Fuck that halfway house because I'm a man now

and I make my own fucking rules. Well oh shit. Guess who gets arrested for trespassing again and has a warrant for failure to appear for the first trespass. Guess that judge is God after all. Sorry, collect calls are auto-blocked

and bail was never in our vocabulary. In all seriousness, I wish we could have our sweet boy back and he could have a normal life. I wish that he could have a boring job, douchebag or awkward friends, the chance to have loved and lost, drop out of college, even a midlife crisis. But I am not going to break my heart again. Lamenting what is lost. Having to let go. Hurts a lot less than holding on. All I see now is a disease that is killed and consumed our boy. now a despicable stranger that serves no purpose for this world but to become a parasite in the

community and on the souls of those who desperately cling to the chance of maybe seeing our beloved son one day. Sometimes I search for a glimmer of him, hoping that there's a chance of him recovering. But all I see now is a doppelganger that is only interested in having his lavish whims obeyed. No traits of empathy, not even an inner turmoil. The disease is deeply cruel. It refuses the very medication needed to bring our boy out of the hole. Because it has tricked him into thinking that the meds are the absolute source of his problems or some conspiracy of all of us trying to poison him. I really fear that he will get into that one last fight with that type of person that refuses to be bullied by his aggressive panhandling.

But I also secretly want him to get into that one last fight because I want the monster that has consumed our boy to be struck from this world, at last allowing the soul of our little boy to finally be free from his prison of madness. He did not deserve this fate. That sweet class clown with that adorable laugh and a head of curls I would ruffle every day did not deserve this.

I tried to pull you from the void, but I could not save you. I could not save you. Fuck you, schizophrenia. Hi, Snook. I've been a great fan of yours for the last couple of years. Your stories help me fall asleep and put my mind off of things. It's been incredible to see your following grow. You truly deserve every bit of it. I'm currently one and a half years clean and I will never go back to the madness of active addiction.

I've lived a crazy life. And two years ago, I decided to finally start taking responsibility and fix my lifestyle before I lost everyone and everything. Please keep my email private. You can call me S. Here is my confession. Back when this happened, I was living on an island in Spain. I lived a reckless lifestyle, partying basically every day and staying awake for multiple days at a time. As you can imagine, I was surrounded by people living the same way.

Somehow, this island has its way of making people lose touch with reality and let themselves go all out. My friend, Max, however, was not aware of this. He came to visit me from my home country. I hadn't seen him in quite a while and didn't have much contact with him. But one day, we started talking again over WhatsApp. And soon enough, he asked if he could come visit me. Of course, I said yes. Why not? When the time came, he arrived and we had some drinks.

We hadn't really discussed any plans for his stay. But as things usually unfolded for me back then, I got a message from a friend named Roxy. She invited me and some others to a festival. She was actually one of the organizers, so we could get free VIP. Max was initially excited, but later he told me he'd been trying to stay off drugs and wanted to be careful. I assured him everything would be fine as long as he didn't take anything from strangers. He'd been to the island before, so he knew his way around. I wasn't worried.

We started the night with drinks at my favorite bar. At the time, I was basically constantly on booger sugar, which I didn't tell Max. I was feeling myself talking to everyone and inviting random people along to the festival. Max seemed awkward, struggling to interact as much as I did. Upon arriving at the festival, we were greeted by security and brought to a table Roxy had set aside for us. I was super excited. introducing Max to everyone I knew.

As the evening progressed, I saw him enjoying himself more and more. It felt great to reconnect, but I could tell we had grown apart. I wasn't ready to let go of my lifestyle. He was more mature and reserved. He told me there was a girl and introduced him to that he really liked, Anna. She was very pretty with a great character. I tried to get them together, but eventually I left them alone because I left them alone because I could only do so much.

What followed was a blur of crazy shit. I was talking a lot with Roxy. I was really attracted to her, but the problem was she was married to a much older, wealthy dude. I tried to impress her by buying bottles and all the superficial nonsense you do on booger sugar when you think you're the man. Somehow, it worked.

I guess it also helped that we took a bunch of pills and booger sugar together. In the end, we hooked up and decided to have an after-party. While all this happened, I hadn't been paying attention to my friend. Turns out, he had been doing the same. He hooked up with Anna and had taken other pills with her, even though he said he wasn't touching drugs

because it was problematic for him. But hey, who cares? We had fun, right? As the festival ended, we planned the after-party at Roxy's villa. She had staff who set up everything while we made our way there. It sounded perfect. Max was super excited to go as long as Anna was coming, and she did. We brought about 50 people back to her house. It was a massive place with multiple levels facing off a cliff into the ocean, featuring a big infinity pool on the lowest level. We were

partying on the main top floor in the roof terrace. Booze flowed freely. A DJ arrived and drugs were being given out for free. Things got wild quickly. Some people got kicked out by security, but after that, it felt more relaxed. Max seemed to be enjoying himself with Anna, so I left them alone. At some point, Roxy and I decided to sneak off to the pool for a swim. Being high and focused on her, I lost track of time. Soon enough, the sun started coming up. We laughed and chilled a bit more before going back upstairs to check on the others. When we rejoined the party, I noticed I couldn't find Max anywhere. I asked around and a girl told me he had been kicked out three hours ago.

Anna had complained he was acting weird and took too many drugs. And apparently, he kept pushing her to sleep with him. I was shocked and worried. I apologized to Anna and tried to get in touch with him. When I opened my phone, I saw 20 messages from him saying he was outside, begging to be let back in and saying he was sorry that he felt out of control because of the drugs. I tried calling, but there was no answer. Eventually, it went straight to voicemail. I assumed he was mad and had gone home. The thing was, he was driving one of my cars,

and he was super fucked up. Back then, I always drove under the influence, so I couldn't judge, but I was still worried. Roxy told me to calm down. and that he'd probably just gone to my own house to sleep. Being the addicted, irresponsible person I was, I accepted it and used more drugs to take my mind off of it. The party finally ended the next day at 11 p.m., 32 hours after we started drinking. It took me a long time to wake up from that hangover.

In the meantime, I had completely forgotten about Maxx in the situation with Anna. About 48 hours after the whole thing started, I finally woke up and remembered, oh shit, where is Max? Zero messages or calls from them. But I had two miscalls, one from a number I didn't recognize,

and one from Anna. Anna had also messaged me, and reading it almost gave me a heart attack. She said, after Max was kicked out, he sent her over 100 messages. He started by begging to let him back in, to make things right. She had turned off her phone to continue partying. When she turned it back on, she saw the messages had turned dark. He wrote that no one ever loved him. No one cared. And the

drugs made him realize what the world really meant to him. His last message was, fuck it, I already started. I might as well keep going now. It sunk in. He was talking about drugs. since he had stopped for a while before coming to the island, his tolerance was gone. The only place to get drugs at that time of night was in sketchy, dangerous trailer parks. Him being a white guy in my car, he would stick out. My body filled with anxiety. I contacted everyone I knew to find my car, but Max still wasn't answering. He was supposed to stay for four days.

We started partying on the first, and now it was the fourth, and I had no idea where he was. Filled with guilt, I called the police and told them my car had been stolen so they would locate it. After another day passed, and I just numbed myself with more drugs to suppress the shame, then the call came. The police found my car parked outside a trailer park, notorious for being an open drug in weapons market. They didn't just find the car. Max was inside. Dead.

All the doors were open and the car was still running. His wallet and belongings were gone. The only thing left was a syringe and the tools used to cook H. They told me he died of an OD and was likely robbed after he passed out. I feel immensely good. guilty. I struggle with addiction myself and I know the feeling of being so depressed you don't want to keep going. All I can do now is stay sober and pray. I have lived a lot of life in the shadows and I can share more stories from my past if you want them. Just let me know. I tried to kill

my roommate's dog. Hi Snook. This is not only a confession, but also a way to spread awareness on postpartum psychosis. You have a large following that I feel can shed light on what I went through and help others who may have experienced it. Otherwise, I'd never tell the internet this. Some background and build up. I had never seen a professional for my behavioral issues growing up, so I was never diagnosed. Nor did I know mental illness was even a thing.

I was just raw-dog in it. Fast forward to 2018. I'm 19 and I just had a kid. I spent two occasions in the behavioral hospital while pregnant due to what I now know was intrusive thoughts to harm the baby in utero. I ended up getting an appointment with a friend at the time at the end of 2019. I documented in journals sleeping for days at a time, not sleeping, four days at a time, intense flashbacks of things I had done to people in my past,

I had hallucinations that caused me to do things to myself. My child spent a lot of their time with their grandparents and not with me because I couldn't stand the sound of crying and had thoughts to permanently hurt them, though I never expressed that to anyone. 2020 hit along with the pandemic. I lived in an apartment with a toddler. Two adults who didn't work, and a dog who was untrained in every way. I was the only one working to support us.

So not only on top of my hallucinations and breaks from reality, I had a house full of literal dog shit because he was never, ever, ever taken out. One night in specific, I woke up from my sleep to sleep paralysis. I looked ahead to my child's toddler bed and saw my hallucination there. I said in my head, don't hurt them. Hurt me. Then my child started to cry and the paralysis broke. I got up and scurried to the kitchen to get them a sippy cup of warm milk to soothe them back to sleep and it grabbed me.

The things tormenting me I felt on my back. I watched myself from the corner of the room go stiff and struggle to move. and I heard something say, you'll kill her, you'll kill her, then commit S word. I don't have to hurt her because I know you will. It broke and I ran into my room through the piss-covered floor and slipped.

That was my breaking point. It pissed me off to fall after what I just experienced and I aimed my anger at the dog. I went to buy anti-freeze, came home, portable, and shoved up. the dogs facing it. When he didn't comply, I got angry and grabbed him by the scruff to the kitchen where I covered about 15 pills in peanut butter and shoved them down his throat. All the while, I watched

myself from the corner of the room again with tears of my eyes. Because that wasn't me, the girl who would take animals home in childhood to give a warm home, the one who had dreams of becoming a vet, I watched this monster erupt from me. I left him there, and I left him there, as soon as I noticed they were ingested. He, of course, got sick. I can find him my partner at the time, and ultimately the relationship ended really nasty. My roommate was very concerned for a sick dog,

unable to take him to the vet because they didn't work, and I confined to them as well. On their bedroom floor, I looked at their sick dog and sobbed the words out. They were kind to me in the moment and soon turned to anger understandably. They told everyone in our test, and I received tons of death threats and vandalism to my apartment,

I had to change my phone number and move. The dog made a full recovery. He is very well to this day. I arranged two days later to take my child to their grandparents to go to treatment. I lost custody of my child for four and a half years when they discovered what I had done a few days after I was admitted. I was diagnosed with a plethora of mood slash personality disorder. I sought treatment for my disorders for three years. I still, six years later, to this day,

require and go to therapy for what I did to their dog. I do not make comments on animal posts on social media due to the fear everyone knows what I did. I do not plan on ever getting another dog of my own due to the guilt I have one I took from my dad because he was abusing him and we had the this dog since 2015. I am undeserving of pets. I am undeserving of their forgiveness and love. I will forever see myself as a heartless monster who did an ultimate betrayal to a friend and their companion despite being literally out of my mind. Nothing will justify the pain I caused my roommate. When you are pregnant, please be aware of postpartum depression. It is so common. If you have a predisposition for any mental illness, specifically bipolar or schizophrenia,

please go to therapy and be aware of mood changes during pregnancy and postpartum to prevent postpartum psychosis from taking over. I am very lucky to have noticed my thoughts and actions were wrong. I was lucky to not have taken the life of my child and or myself despite the urges and thoughts. Everyone shunned me. Everyone told me I deserved to lose my child and everything life held for me. That I deserved nothing good. That won't stop me from speaking on my experience with PPP.

Speak out. Speak out and survive. Do not be quiet and die. Thank you, Snook, if you feature the story. I love your videos and getting to hear about the hard and challenging experiences of other people. Our first daughter was R-worded at 14. and we raised the baby as our own child. Our first daughter committed S word,

and we carried on raising the baby. My grandchild thinks were her parents, and I can't bring myself to tell her the truth even now. This is a lengthy confession. I'm sorry if you don't like reading long posts, you can skip to the end if you want. Our first daughter was R-worded when she was 14. It destroyed her childhood

and flipped our lives up. upside down. You always assume if you bring your child upright and take care of them, nothing bad will happen. But something bad just happened anyways. And there was nothing we could do afterwards to make what happened right. The man who did it got sent to jail eventually. But our daughter was never the same again. Counseling never brought her smile back. Nothing seemed to work. She seemed so cold and emotionally dead from there onward. And we tried so hard to connect back with her, but nobody could. She was an island and didn't want to talk to anyone about anything. We as parents blamed ourselves for this. We ended up pulling our daughter out

of school to homeschool her because her attendance was very bad and she suffered night terrors which kept her awake some nights. It was probably a bad decision and overprotective parenting, but we wanted to protect her and felt a regular school wasn't a safe and environment for her at the time. As if the situation could be any worse, we found out our daughter was pregnant with our arwardess child. We tried to suggest a operation to get rid of the baby because of her age in the situation, but she didn't want to. Our daughter refused to get the operation to get rid of the pregnancy, so we kept her out of school to give birth to the baby. We raised the child as our second daughter to give our first daughter the life she was robbed. We just wanted her to enjoy her

life and told her, we raised the baby for her as our sibling, and she agreed to this. It was partly out of fear of what the neighborhood would think, and partly out of wanting our daughter to continue having a normal teenage life. It wasn't ideal, but things worked for a time, and our daughter got to see her daughter whenever she wanted, which was better than giving the baby up to adoption. Things didn't last this way for long, though, as our daughter's mental health started to deteriorate. When our first daughter started to become heavily S-word, there was nothing we could do because every time we tried to get closer to her, she'd push us away worse than before. She was hospitalized several times for S-word attempts until she succeeded.

This destroyed us. At first, we hated the baby and blamed it. We blamed it for the death of our daughter and were in denial it was our fault. Eventually, though, we realized we were to blame, not the child who's brought into the world by no fault of their own. We'd focused for so long on the fact it was half of the R-worded as child, that we'd overlooked the fact it was also half of our daughter. It took a lot of time to come to this conclusion, but we'd always looked after the baby out of respect to our daughter. The thought of giving it up to adoption went through my mind several times, but I knew my daughter didn't want this and so did my wife. We gave her daughter, our daughter, the best life we could. We bought her anything

she could ever want. Took her to concerts and on holidays. We even sent her to a private school despite the extra expense with hopes that she will become successful in life and live the life our daughter never got to live. She's home right now and whenever she hugs me or my wife and says, I love you, mom and dad. It hurts all. like a dagger through our hearts. I always look towards my wife every time our daughter says it. She finds it as painful as I do, and I can tell by the look in her eyes.

It's not that we don't love her. It's that her entire life is being lived as a lie. We're actually her grandparents, and she has no idea of this. She's never asked if we're really her true parents because obviously she has never had a reason to. Part of me, though, believes lying by omission is still lying, though. We've never told her truth about her sister being her mother. She knows her sister committed S-word, but she is too young to remember it.

I feel as though we're protecting her from being damaged and hurt by keeping her oblivious to all of this. Maybe I'm just being selfish. Maybe my wife is too. We just don't want to see her suffer. The thought of her not being strong enough to hear the truth scares me the most. I know I shouldn't compare her to my other daughter, but I would never forgive myself if she committed Sward 2 after learning the truth. I cannot lose both of them.

I can't survive another loss like this. The whole situation is soul-crushing. The only person I can talk to is my wife. It feels like some massive thing nobody else can ever know. Not even our own parents know the truth. My son was in a car accident and it was my fault. A little backstory. I had kidney stones while pregnant and all that could be done for me was narcotic pain

management. After he was born, the doctor didn't wean me off the meds. on for months, so I developed a habit. At the time, I had a best friend who was a druggie, so she'd get me pills whenever I needed them. After a while, we both decided to get clean and get better. I was clean and knew she was trying to get clean too. When my son was five months old, this best friend was babysitting him and borrowed one of our cars to run some errands. We got to call that. She'd been in an accident on I-Sacons. 65 and totaled the car with our infant in the back seat.

Come to find out, her errands were driving to a shady part of town to buy pills and do them off a coffee table while my son was in his car seat beside her. When we got to the scene of the accident, we had multiple witnesses telling us she was doing speeds of over 100 miles an hour and appeared to be nodding off at the wheel. She rear-ended a family down from Indiana on vacation. When we showed up, she was holding my son, and the first thing she said was, they're already telling the police this was my fault. They're all liars. You know I never put him in danger. I said, just give me my baby.

Then the police pulled her aside to talk. While getting our belongings out of the car, my husband found a needle in the front seat. My son was fine. His car seat had been wiggled slightly. sideways, but in the abundance of caution, he was still taken by the ambulance to Vanderbilt Children's. I cried the entire way. My son could have died because I decided to keep a woman around that I thought was a friend. This was years ago, and I haven't spoken to her since that day. I am 100% clean and sober now because of this, but I still feel such a tremendous guilt

that I have nightmares. And I'm crying now as I type. My four-year-old son is autistic, and I hate him. I hate being a parent. I hate everything about this. I'm so tired of having to deal with that all. The tantrums, the lack of comprehension, the aggression, and the inability of us being unable to do anything or go anywhere because of him. I hate my son.

I know a lot of people will hate me for this, but I truly just want to get it off my chest without anyone who knows me knowing. I want to finally spill all the beans and get it out here and hoping this will be cathartic for me. I already know I need personal mental help. Alas, no monies for that. People will also suggest getting him help as well.

No money for that either. Though he already is in a local state-sponsored two-and-a-half-hour daily program for kids with disabilities. It's helping, but it only goes so far. There are many things I despise. in the world from politics to health care, or their lack of, to business practices to just people in general. I also love many things around here, so no, I'm not a grumpy old man who just hates anyone and everything. There are even people I'd be oh so happy to cease up for a slow and

painful death. But there is one thing I would never wish on them. A child with autism. I'll start off by saying, I truly don't know how single parents and happy slash good parents, with kids with disabilities do it. I truly do not understand how you have so much strength to get through the day and still be in one piece mentally. I wish I knew how. Today, all I wanted to do was something seemingly simple and it even started off well. Go fuel up the car, then walk around a bit to get the coffee.

He had fun in the car, but as soon as the car ride was over and we had to go left instead of going right, the tantrums, screaming, scratching, pinching. and all started. He wanted this instead of that. More tantrums. Right instead of left next time. And worse and worse. All I wanted was a damn cup of fresh coffee that I didn't have to brew myself. We, wife and I, work from home. In a decent amount of time, we have to spend dealing with him. I use that word specifically as it's not the, oh cool, that's a cool car you have. Let's play a bit. Not that kind of stuff, it's the For the thousandth time,

Do not stab the dog with his stick. Please play with the bouncing ball, not against my head. Again, we've talked about this a million times. Do not touch the audio equipment. And on and on and on. I'm getting tired of having to repeat the exact same, very simple things over and over and over day in and day out.

You might say, but dad with an autistic kid, kids don't understand stuff, you have to be nicer to them. They'll get it. I hear you. But there is only so many times at this stage you can repeat the simplest of things without getting frustrated. Be it how to put on shoes, just putting them on, not tying them. We need to go right instead of straight.

This is how we go up the stairs. Please wait here for five seconds while I order coffee. I'm tired. I should have never been a dad. This truly has been the worst decision of my life and I regret everything about it, save for a few minor points here and there. These four years have been horrible and only getting worse and it's largely because of him. Logically speaking, it's not because of him.

It's just my perception and view of the world in which I cause myself to get angry on things that I should not such as his inability or ability to comprehend differently than us. Logically, sure. Emotionally, this took an hour to type up. I'm trying to get better. I'm trying not to get mad. I'm trying not to yell at him. I just can't help but be frustrated and yell at him sometimes.

I know it's wrong and there's no excuse for me acting the way I am. I feel like shit for yelling at him and dragging him home while he was wailing because he wanted to go that way and I wanted to go home so I can go back to work. He doesn't understand the stressed of work, of time, of other people's desire, needs. I understand he doesn't comprehend most of what we're doing, both because of age and because of his autism. And it breaks my heart seeing all these normal kids, his age, doing normal things. And he just doesn't get it. And probably never will. I feel like a failure for having a kid like that. I feel like a failure for not being a better and good enough father, parent and man,

to be able to help him properly. I just don't. We're currently back home, and to try to make it up to him, he's gotten some hugs. Some of his favorite juice, and I turned on his favorite Lego game. So whoever you people are at Nintendo and Lego who make your games accessible to kids, whoever you are, thank you very much. Without you, I don't know what I'd do. The Lego game's always fun, and we figured he'd like the Lego City game, and he adores it.

It's the first real video game he's played and pretty much the first thing other than just cars and trains he's truly played with. Thank you. And yes, for those wondering, he and I do play it together sometimes in the evenings or on weekends. As for now, I'm going to sit in a corner, drink my coffee and cry, and think about how shitty of a dad I am. Am I the worst father out there? No. That type of comparison doesn't help me. No matter what, I always end up comparing myself to parents with normal kids. My wife already knows what I think of him, though she doesn't know I hate him. She will never know. Whatever I do, I know I need to be better and do better. At least to round this off on a few positive notes, writing this out has helped clear my sinuses out a bit as well as being

a good load off of my shoulders. The school program he is in has helped me immensely since he has started as he's now able to put several words together into a mini-sentence with some prompting and direction. He is getting surprisingly better, rather quickly at video games, so I hope to find more he can play soon. He does like cars, so I'm going to try to find city-oriented ones, though I hear the new Yoshi game is nice. Maybe he'll like it. I don't know. I think they have a demo to try. My mother helps out sometimes, which is amazing when she's able to. And when times are good, things are sometimes kind of fun with him around. I hope he can be. both my gaming and hiking buddy in the future. Thanks for reading. Evening Edit. Thank you everyone for all your

kind words and suggestions. I've never even considered contacting a disability services forum, local community, such as the church groups, and local fellow parents with kids who need help groups. You'll be pleased to know I've given him extra hugs, kind words, snuggles, and playtime. We both calm down a lot. Many of your heartfelt messages truly made me tear up. Thank you. I'll be looking into local disability services, and since it's a day off from school, good Friday, I'll take some time off of work and walk around with them, weather permitting, or play a lot with them. I will be heading for to bed now. Thank you all very much, truly. Everything you've all written has given me a lot to think about. Thank you, and good night.

Viewers submitted confession. I tried to kill my stepdad when I was 10. I am a long time lurker of your channel. I don't really comment or contribute, but I really like your content. But that isn't the point of this confession. The short of it is that I, 20 male, tried to kill my stepdad when I was 10. I'm not going to say he deserved it. Nobody deserves a real attempt on their life, but I have carried this on me for a decade. I was living with my mom, little brother, and stepdad.

My mother never had a good taste in men, and at the time, she was on drugs despite her schizophrenia and was likely suffering religious psychosis. My stepdad favored me. He found me precocious, and even my mom said he liked me more than he liked her, which, in hindsight, fucking creepy. I didn't like him very much, though. Never liked any of my mom's boyfriends much. It was my stepdad's birthday, and since he grew up in Guatemala in poverty, he never had

celebrated. We spent all afternoon decorating the house, making his favorite dinner, then waiting for him to get back home from work. When my mom called him, another woman answered, and then put him on the phone. My mother went ballistic, and they started yelling at each other over the phone in some dialect of Spanish. We waited up for him. He came home very late and very drunk. They started arguing in Spanish, and it wasn't long before I got physical, trapping my brother and I in the corner of the room as they smashed belongings, screamed, and fought.

I managed to get my brother and I away, put him in our room, and told him very sternly to put in my earbuds, and no matter what he hears, unless it's me, stay in the room and keep the door locked. I left him there with YouTube and went back out to de-escalate. My attempts to do so didn't work.

The fighting god, worse and I started to sob and shake and struggle to breathe, which I now know was probably an anxiety attack. I don't really know what happened, but I felt like my body was on autopilot. I walked past the argument, got a cup, went into my room, and grabbed my bottle of NyQuil. I've always suffered from trauma-related insomnia, and my mom had made me a dose with the NyQuil to sleep at night. I had learned to drink Diet soda with the NyQuil because because it made it taste better. Something about the way the aspartane reacts with the ingredients in the NyQuil,

but with this knowledge, I attempted what I've admitted to. I poured like five times the recommended dose into the cup, went into the kitchen, dropped ice into it, and filled up the rest with the diet soda. Then I handed it to him with a dopey, innocent smile. I don't know what I was really thinking. He was already pretty drunk, and I remember telling myself that if he was gone,

then he wouldn't hit my mom, and that they wouldn't argue. I thought if I offed him, my mom, my little brother and I, could go to Virginia to be with our family, and that we would be happy. After a bit, the fighting stopped, and my mom and I were cleaning the aftermath of the fight while my little brother sat on the couch.

The living room was littered with broken glass, smashed DVDs, knocked over furniture, etc. My stepdad was in the kitchen, mumbling incoherently at the ceiling. My little brother saw him, and asked, Mama, what's wrong with him? She looked at him, looked back at the bits of broken bullshit and said, I really don't know and really don't care. I looked up and saw the cup next to him and asked my little brother, hey, can you look at that cup by him? He got up and looked in the

cup, responding, it's almost all empty. And I smiled. He held the cup to his nose and said, Smells like medicine. My mom looked at me with a horrified expression. My mom looked at me with a horrified and asked, oh my God, what the fuck did he do? I just looked at her and said, what I had to. She checked on him. He was out of it. She took his wallet and drove my brother and I to the gas station to get us slushies and get her cigarettes. He woke up sick as hell the next day, but ended up being fine. My brother demanded we go to Virginia or he would call her family to do it the hard way. She took us and we never saw him again. That is until now where he found me on social. He drops likes on my stuff here and there, but we've never talked since my mom left him.

Now I'm 20, living in Virginia with my partner. And nobody knows, aside from my brother, my mom and me. I admittedly have a temper like everyone in my family, and I come from a violent family, but I've grown into a pacifist. Not because of moral high grounds or anything deep, but because whenever I'm angry, I do a lot of damage. I still think of that time some nights when I can't sleep and it eats at me. I could have succeeded.

He could have died and then I'd be some a true crime documentary rather than a high school graduate with a partner and a promising future. I feel like I don't deserve these good things though. I know what horrible things I could do and I fear that someday I'll snap wrong and hurt somebody who matters.

I'm in therapy now and have been diagnosed with PTSD, GAD, and depression. I haven't told this to my therapy, therapy is because I don't know what she'd be legally obligated to do. I hope you use this or even just read it. Sincerely, a late-night lurker. My mom caught my dad with a 16-year-old and covered it up. Well, 16 years ago, we had two of my friends and their mother living with us while they went through a divorce. I was 15 and my friends were 14 and 16. I was away at another friend's house one night. When I came back the following day, my mom told me she had kicked them out because

the 16-year-old tried to make a move on my dad. She absolutely slandered that poor girl's name. When I got into my 20s, it still sat in the back of my mind. I just knew I didn't get the full truth. So I reached out to the 16-year-old who was also now in our 20s. We met up and I got the true story. I could see the pain in her eyes. She said she'd been in therapy for years because of my father, that he did it in such a loving way. It really fucked her up. She told me they'd been drinking on the property, then went skinny dipping, all while my mother was in bed pregnant with my sister. They made their way into the house and upstairs, where eventually my mother walked in on them. I let her know I had her back and if she ever decided to do anything about it.

I'm now in my 30s and recently became a mother and it's all I've been able to think about. They still don't know that I know the truth. It's reawakened the rage in me, especially all of the teenage rage they made me shoved down for so long. Because if anyone did that to my daughter or if I caught my husband in that situation, hell no. It was easy to shove down before because I learned from the best. my parents. But becoming a mother, especially to a daughter, I've never wanted someone to pay for something they've done so bad. I feel like if I brought it out to my mom, she'd just get angry and

talk shit. She'd probably say the past is the past, and I need to let it go, that people can change, but I know he hasn't changed due to the events over the last few years with his anger and control issues. He's a very big narcissist who believes he can do no wrong whatsoever. And my mother is so far up his ass and makes me wonder if the 16-year-old was his only victim. If she was, and if he's never done it again, would that be okay? Is this forgivable? Because I don't feel like it is. I want to tell the whole family, but I feel like they just downplay it to make me feel crazy. Cut me off and turn my siblings against me. They've done. done it before when I called them out on the other thing, so here I am. Just needing to get it out,

I guess. What would you do? Someone in the comment says, your dad is a predator and your mom is in denial. I wouldn't want family in my life that couldn't agree that your father is an abuser amongst other things. I think for your own sake, you should speak up and call out shitty behavior. I recently cut off both my sisters because they were so abusive and it was unhealthy for me. Sometimes we can't have family in our lives and that is okay. Someone else says personally, I think that because your father was so brazen as to do this with your mother pregnant and in the house, it suggests he definitely has done this before or would do it again or both.

He was supposed to be an adult sheltering vulnerable women slash girls, but he got a minor drunk and abuse them. I agree with the comment that says if this person had brushed it off or was on with it, then things would be different, but you know, that's not the case. I'm not sure what your next step should be regarding informing people, but I sure as shit wouldn't let my daughter be alone with him. Someone else says the fact that he was so brazen to do this with his wife in the house, he's definitely done it before or since. I'm sorry, these were the parents that you were given. I'd never feel safe leaving my kid alone with either of them. And the O.P. response saying, exactly.

I'm scared he has done it before or since. I was married to a murderer for eight years and lied to the police about him. He died last year. His crimes going completely unpunished. When I was 22, I fell in love with a much older man, 40 years old. who was in the local crime group. He sold drugs, worked partially in a nightclub, beats women, had a gun on him always, etc. And yet, young me loved him for it.

It felt cool to me. I had no education. I was born in the USSR, and I had no money. I didn't care. I wanted to be married to a bad boy who provided for me. My alternatives were dull. This lifestyle was glamorous and sexy to me at the time. Two years in was when I first realized he killed a man at the nightclub.

He was covered in blood when he came home, and the news said they found a body near the club. Either he helped hide the body, or he did it himself. I never knew what happened. Then he killed another. man only 15 days later. His cousin's friend, who I had met before. There was some kind of rift in the business that had lasted for a while between them, and the cousin was a drug addict and an R-wordist. I know he did it. He didn't tell me outright, but he implied it. The cousin's friend himself

was a brutish, horrific man. From what I understand, he more than deserved it. I have no sympathy for his death. Maybe five to six years later, he shouted at me. to throw down his gun from his bedroom drawer quickly, as quickly as possible. I did. He ran back outside. I heard a flurry of gunfire and a girl shrieking in pain and crying, then another gunshot, which ended that. I locked myself in my bathroom door, horrified, literally petrified of what had just happened. I waited a bit, a few months, but that night was the night I realized I had to leave him. During those few months, cops came to my door and asked me questions about that night. I said I knew nothing.

Didn't hear anything. They told me she was a dancer at the nightclub he worked at. 19 years old. With a child. Born in Baku. I still didn't say anything. They didn't entirely suspect them at that point. We divorced.

I moved to the UK. Then to the USA. It has been, let me think. 17 years since I divorced him, I believe. We got married in 1993 and got divorced in 2001, so 17 years. I found out he died of a heart attack recently. Well, I found out recently, but the heart attack was last year. I don't know why I have never told anyone in the West about my experience with them.

I tell people I was married before, but to an alcoholic, and that is all I say as to why I broke it off with him. I have never told anyone the real reason. I feel such immense dread in relation to the fact that I let him kill people and get away with it. He should have suffered and went to jail, and I lied to the police. He killed a 19-year-old mother. High-functioning amphetamine addict. If you read all of this and respond, I'm grateful for you. So I've got a prescription to Adderall. Nothing crazy.

I started a job in finance and needed a boost to help me while studying for exams a few years ago. Wearing a suit and seeing a doctor made the process easy. I've always had an inclination towards amphetamines and would routinely buy them prior to this new career. I honestly didn't know how much I liked them until I had such a big supply of them. I usually only use them to party on the weekend. Fast forward. What I find myself doing now when I refill a script is taking three or so at a time.

I'm super productive for a few days, but also end up staying awake until the early morning. It doesn't matter if it's a school night. I can't control it. The next day, the only way to get back on the grind is to take another one when I get up, and then another one around lunch, and maybe another one after work. The result of all of this is that it's a bender, that lasts days with very little sleep at all. Funny enough, though, while I'm high, I do great. I make tons of contacts, get clients to do business, make decent money.

The problem comes when I run out. A 30-day supply lasts a week and a half tops. That's when I crash hard. I can't do anything but sleep for days, get super depressed and don't care about any of my responsibilities. I call out of work, miss all of my obligations, and don't pick up the phone. I'm very good at excuses, apologies, and explanations. I'm also charismatic and personable,

so until now I've been able to talk my way out of issues. But that ended last week. I went through my monthly cycle, let a lot of people down, lost a big opportunity in my firm and a spot on a big non-profit board of directors. I messed up years of hard work. Apologies didn't help.

People are disappointed in me, and there isn't room for forgiveness. I don't think people know I'm an addict. They just think I'm unreliable. and disrespectful. Maybe drugs took a while, but I feel like they ruin my life. I'm sad, I'm depressed, I feel worthless, and the worst part is that I know and comprehend what I'm doing when I do it, it's like I have no self-control. I don't know if this is a call for help, but I need someone to say I'm an addict. I haven't said it to anyone before.

especially myself, but that's my confession. I am an addict and it's ruining my life. My husband told me he was trying to change, but it was just a lie. He's been lying to me this whole time. I thought he was cheating, but it was even worse. Originally posted to R slash True Off My Chest in the post reads as follows. posting anonymously because I don't want anyone I know to find out what's going on with my marriage. I'm so embarrassed.

When I was first married, my husband had no interest in gambling. When it started, it was just a few casual bets on football. It has gone out of control. He doesn't just bet on his football team now. He bets on matches in other countries such as American football or baseball. He even bets on individual sports. such as golf and Formula One. He gets angry at individual players if they don't do the things he needs to win his bet.

It's more important than his team winning. I couldn't stand how much his gambling was costing us. At first, I thought he was cheating with the way he was acting. I was devastated when I found out he was betting. I wanted a divorce, but he begged me to stay and go to counseling. He said this was a wake-up call and that he would never gamble. again. We're going to counseling together, and he's in individual counseling as well. He said he has stopped gambling, but he was lying the entire time. He's been in trouble with the police.

They told me police in a different country were investigating posts from social media that threatened a player there, and it was traced back to my husband. My husband lost a bet and blamed that player. I'm not giving him another chance. I'm moving out this week, and I'll be seeking a divorce. When I confronted him, he told me he never stopped gambling and was just saying what I wanted to hear. I can't believe how stupid and naive I was. And then a commenter says, don't you dare blame yourself. He did the right thing. You gave him a second chance. He blew it. Not you. Never feel guilty for being a sympathetic and reasonable person. Shame on him for failing you as a partner. And shame on him for being a piece of shit.

Maybe now that the police are involved, this may really be a wake-up call he needed. However, you are not obligated to give him a third chance, and good for you for not doing so. Now, give yourself some grace. You gave him and put your life back together how you want it. Make yourself happy. And then the O.P. replies to his comments are saying, maybe now that the police are involved, this may really be a wake-up call he needed, and the O.P. replies to that saying, I was so embarrassed when I found out what he did and that the police are involved.

my husband doesn't seem to share my feelings. He wasn't embarrassed or bothered by this at all. I found out that gambling on sports is becoming more and more of a problem. I never thought it would happen to me. And then another competitor says, I'm really sorry you're going through this. It's an addiction that's going to need far more than just couples counseling. Recovery is possible, but you've got to do what you need to protect yourself

in your financial present and future as well. Without sounds like he's escalating. He may find himself in major debt or even worse if he doesn't actually get help. I will be the rare one to say, don't rush to a divorce just yet, but starting to reserve and secure finances on your own that he does not have access to should be your first and top priority. Make sure you start having money in your own account away from his or a shared one. Change your passwords on your bank accounts and card information and don't tell him them.

Do tell him that you are separating yourself financially though. over bills, check your credit scores, and make sure he hasn't dragged you or your money to his addiction. Then after that, you can start issuing more boundaries and even ultimatums about him getting help or you will walk for good. Counseling and individual therapy for both of you would be good as well. I know it's a lot, but you can at least then say you tried everything, and then if you do officially divorce and leave him to his own devices, you will have your own finances available and established already anyway. And then the O.P replies saying, my husband was going to individual

counseling and I had set boundaries. We were also in couples counseling. None of it made a difference. I will not be giving him another chance. He already had one. As I said in my post, I will be seeking a divorce. There is nothing my husband or anyone else can say to make me change my mind. And then the commenter replies to the OPE saying, I hear you. That's why I said he needs actual help with the gambling and to go to treatment for that and gamblers anonymous, not just counseling. Your feelings and decision is completely valid. Nobody should fault you here. All addictions affect far more than just the addict. I just know how hard it is to decide divorce. I hope you're able to live a stress-free and financially stable life, as well as heal from the heartbreak you've

experienced. My ex-husband was a drug addict who became extremely abusive in every way possible. I asked him to choose rehab or divorce. He made a third opening on cheating on me, so I chose divorce for him. I know it's not the same kind of addiction, but you get the point. You're making the right choice for your life. Good luck, and hopefully he's able to break the addiction before he ruins anyone's life, especially his own. And then the O.P replied saying,

I'm sorry about what happened with your ex-husband, and I hope you're doing well now. The counselor my husband was seen wasn't the same one we went to for our marriage counselor. She is a counselor for people with a gambling addiction. She also had him going to a support group, but he still lied to me and kept gambling the entire time. Once he admitted he was only saying what I wanted to hear, I knew there was nothing else I could do to save our marriage. And then the OP gives us an update nearly one and a half months later,

saying, Update to my husband told me he was trying to change, but it was all a lie. He's been lying to me the whole time. I thought it was cheating, but it was even worse. I moved out a month ago. I'd already told him I was going to be seeking a divorce. He doesn't want a divorce, even though he outright admitted to me that he kept lying and only said what I wanted to hear.

On top of that, he wasn't at all embarrassed or bothered about being in trouble with the police. There is no way I can stay married to him. The divorce process formally began this past week, and I was clear with him about not wanting to see him or have contact ever again. I am trying to move on. Thank you to everybody who left encouraging comments from me last time. That really did help. I did receive multiple messages saying I was being far too sensitive or a stupid woman,

but I just deleted them and have turned off the chat feature now. I appreciate everybody who was encouraging. I never thought something like this would happen to me. My husband didn't start betting until a few years into our marriage. Back then it was casual and only on football. Then he started betting on other sports such as American football and basketball, and it got even worse. I never expected anything like this to happen to me, and I feel so naive and stupid for believing he was trying to change.

It was all a lie. As a child, I permanently altered another child's life, and it eats me alive even 15 years later. Hey, Snook, I've been following along with your channel for over a year and a half now, and I love what you do. your videos keep me focused throughout the day help me when I can't sleep and I love the community that's formed around your channel. I just have to say, thank you so much for watching. It means the world

and I'm glad my videos can get you through your day and yeah, the community here is great. You guys are the best. And this confession is something that's been eating me alive every single day and night for over 15 years now and I'm ready to at least talk about it and put it into words. Whether or not this day's anonymous is fully

up to you. And this will remain anonymous. If you guys do send it into confession, they all remain anonymous. So yeah, don't worry about me leaking a name or anything. Everything is completely anonymous. And let's get into it. For starters, this happened when I was 12 years old. I grew up in the kind of family where everyone was reliant on blue collar work to make a living. Mostly construction slash contracting, as well as landscaping, building, automotive work, etc.

By the time I could walk and talk, I'd always been on a construction site. helping in the garage or learning about tools slash equipment. I thought I was so much more progressed than kids my age and older, seeing how I knew how to do so much stuff already before they could. I learned a lot about safety in regards to power tools, being safe and unfinished homes with hazards everywhere, things like that. By the time I was 10, I worked every day with my dad and my grandpa after school while they ran their construction business,

always grabbing tools, cleaning up, learning how to use power saws, drills, and other handheld tools. By the time I was 12, young me became pretty cocky in my abilities. I had rebuilt a dirt bike, mowed lawns in the spring and summer, used weed whackers, chainsaws, heads, trimmers, the works. By this time, I worked full time in the summers as a sort of apprentice, to my grandfather to remodel homes, due repairs, and a multitude of different construction projects. During the school year, I would work after school and on weekends with my dad doing similar work.

but more landscaping than construction. Long rant, I know, but this is to set the stage as to why I felt confident in my abilities I had at the time. During the spring of 2012, my family lived in central Colorado. In the spring, is when we get the most snow. I'd always spent winter slash spring making money by shoveling snow, clearing ice off walkways or driveways and moving the huge snowdrift piles from snow plows out of the way from people's houses.

This was also a year after my parents split. And with my parents not being on cordial terms and slightest, due to what caused their situation, the garage at our house was still stacked to the brim with my dad's and grandfather's extra tools. That year, the snowfall was record-breaking. I believe in March, we got so snowed in, we couldn't even open the front door. And for anyone who has ever spent hours upon hour shoveling snow, you'll know it's a lot of work. And being a kid, I was war out and wanted to make more money faster so I could be inside. sooner and play video games or draw. Well, that's where the snowblower comes in. My dad had bought a brand

new Koboda snowblower with a twin stage blade. That was 28 inches across. The thing was intimidating. Sure, but my dad taught me how to use it the winter before because he was too drunk to bother with snow blowing. I decided that I would use said snowblower to clear people's driveways, walkways and the sidewalks as opposed to shoveling it all by hand. This led to me digging the the snowblower out of the garage. In fighting with these things, piled and stacked around it to finally get it out. After maybe an hour of playing Tetris, scratching my mom's car, and knocking over, God knows what in the process, it was out. My pre-UOS and brain could only think about one thing. Hell yeah. Time to make some money. I started with our driveway, before anyone else is.

I fought with starting the blower for longer than I'd like to admit. YouTube still didn't have instruction videos for everything, and I finally got it going. Trying to do it like my dad had shown me the year before. I managed to sloppily snow blow our entire driveway and sidewalk. 12-year-old me was elated, and I felt much more confident in this idea and this business plan because in my stupid underdeveloped brain, I'm now a pro because I managed not to break anything or hurt myself. Stupid thought process, no doubt. This led to me drawing up a whole business model and I was ready to take the neighborhood by storm. That night, I stayed up for hours. making crude, hand-drawn flyers to stick in people's mailboxes or tape to their front doors.

I watched late into the night how much it was snowing from the kitchen table while I made posters until I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I went to school the next day early. Having to walk a mile through knee-deep snow with the biggest money-making idea ever really puts a pep in your step. I gave flyers to my teachers, other kids to give their parents. Hell, even the custodian got one. and I was wearing a shit-eating grin ear-to-ear thinking about how rich I'm going to be. It snowed the whole day. I even begged to go outside for recess because they weren't letting us to check the conditions. When school finally let us out, I peeled out of class like a bat out of hell with my backpack jammed full of flyers.

On my walk home, I put one into every mailbox I passed and put them on the windows of cars that were buried in the snowdrift from the plows. By the time I made it home, I had gotten rid of at least 40 of them. and I sat waiting eagerly by the landline phone well into the evening. I even begged my mom to not answer the phone if someone called because it could be a customer. This is probably a great time to throw in the fact that my mother, who wasn't really present as a parent or as emotionally involved as most, now going through a messy split with my dad, they had been together for over 20 years,

had no clue that I was doing this, she just thought I was still shoveling snow for the neighbors. I waited late but the evening, hoping for a phone call from literally anyone. I thought at first people are having dinner. They're probably busy. Then I thought that nobody had bothered to check their mail yet. By the time APM rolled around, I was discouraged and angry feeling like my plan wasn't going to work.

So that night, I decided to take a more direct approach. In my mind, I concluded that most people don't work on Saturdays, so people will be home. So what I'll do is go door to door with the snowblower to offer to clear people's driveways. And there's no possible way they could turn me down. because I have a snowblower and could get it done fast, and they can enjoy their weekend and their pajamas while I'm the one freezing my ass off. So that night, I went into the garage, brought the snowblower closed the door, filled it with gas that had been sitting for God knows how long, and covered it with a blue tarp hoping my mom wouldn't notice it moved when she went back to work

in the morning. That Saturday morning, at 8 a.m. sharp, I heard the garage open and my mom leave for work. Although I had already been awake waiting anxiously for her to leave, I jumped out of bed and threw on all of my snow gear, ate my daily breakfast of dry and clumpy maple brown sugar oatmeal, and ran to the garage to pull out the snowblower. I thought I should do our driveway first, but realized if I was going to secretly use the snowblower, I'd have to do it very last so my mom wouldn't know I took it out. Stupid logic, I know, but I thought I was being so smart. So I rolled it out to the street and started making my way throughout the neighborhood. I started banging on doors to meet people that were not thrilled to be woken up to a shivering

stontenose kid on their porch first thing in the morning on a Saturday. So they were pretty quick to blow me off. I think it was the fifth or sixth door that I knocked on my street that someone agreed to let me clear their driveway for $10. Huge money when you're 12. And I was over the moon. I started immediately and fought to lug this heavy-ass snowblower that was as big as me into their driveway and started.

It definitely didn't look the best. but hey, it beat shoveling for two hours. I did this house without any incident. The nice older couple that lived there paid me, and I was on my way. Throughout the day, I did six more houses just like this. At one point, I ran out of gas and had to run home to get the gas jug to fill up the blower again,

and kept trudging along through the neighborhood doing this. Later in the afternoon, around 3.15-ish, yes, I remember I've worn a watch my whole life, and I'm very OCD compulsive about knowing the time and timing things. I passed one of the neighboring houses on the street where a ton of kids were outside. I knew most of the kids there because at least four of them were siblings and lived there. We always rode bikes and played in the drainage digits together, so I, being cocky, and with an ego bigger than my little body could handle,

wanted to show off the fact that I could run this big, scary machine by myself. I started it to show them how it works and how cool it was that I could spray snow 10 feet away. At the time, they were building a fort. And having extra snow to build it in was a no-brainer. So I said I wanted to snow blow their driveway and blow all the snow into the yard beside it so we could have a huge fort and we could play in the snow after. I started off the sidewalk so I could maneuver the snowblower easier. And as I was doing this, multiple kids from this family were standing by,

wanting to get blasted by the huge shower of snow that would come out of the shoot. Everyone was laughing, running around, throwing snowballs, and we were all yelling at each other about how fun this was over the loud engine and the snowblower. Everything seemed to be going fine. I started working my way up the driveway with the blower. All the snow was going to the side of the yard where the fort was as according to plan. And all the other kids there were loving getting blasted by the snow and piling snow together to add the fort. At this time, a kid younger than me, let's call him John, was running back and forth across the driveway while I was running the snowblower.

If anyone here has used one before, you'll know it rolls automatically when the throttle handle is engaged. As he was doing this, I was preoccupied with trying to keep the blower in a straight line, watching the snow spray all over the lawn, and trying to hold on tight to the machine. Honestly, what happened next was so shocking and so anxiety-inducing in the moment and even now that it gets a little blurry. Somehow, some way, as John was running back and forth across the driveway, he fell in the snow right in front of the machine. I only noticed it when I saw his hands and head on the ground. When I saw this, I let go of the throttle as well as the blade control, and all I could hear was him screaming and the motor running on the machine. I've never had such a gut-sinking feeling in my entire life, even to this day, and I've seen some awful shit.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and ran over to John, who is now laying on the ground with his leg wrapped up inside the snow blower blade. I was screaming to the point where I started hyperventilating. I shut off the motor by hitting the kill switch on the side of it and started panicking. I tried to pull his leg out and turn the blades, but anyone who's ever used one knows they lock in place when the motor isn't on. At this point, everyone is in hysterics and one of John's siblings ran inside to get their mom. She comes running out, screaming and justifiably horrified to see her youngest kid's leg wrapped up in a snowblower blade. We all sat practically shooting our pants for the next 10 minutes watching John's mom

try and wiggle and maneuver his leg out of the snowblower blade. He's screaming and crying and saying how much it hurts and all I can think about is how my mom is going to actually kill me. I'm screaming. I'm sorry over and over again. The other kids are yelling at me. John's mom is screaming at me. mean the whole ordeal has me stuck in fight or flight mode. After about 15 minutes of wrestling

John's leg out of the machine, his mom finally gets him free, and we can all visibly see his snow boot on his right foot has been cut open and looks very wet. After his mom handles it and grabs it with John screaming out in pain, we can see the blood on our hands and at this point, everyone is crying and I'm dry heaving, unable to puke up my oatmeal from breakfast. From here, I watch as John Moms picks them up, practically throws him into their car, and drives much faster than what would be safe on snowy roads down the street and out of the neighborhood, presumably to the emergency room. Right about now, I'm having a full-blown panic attack. All of John's siblings and the other neighborhood kids that were at their house, are yelling at me, call me horrible names, and are

just trying to grab me. I grab the snowblower, and I push it as hard and fast as I could back to the house. I even went the long way, hoping they wouldn't follow and know where I lived. Spoiler, I've known these kids for years, so they know which house is mine. Once I got home, I shoved the snowblower back into the garage, covered it with the same blue tar from earlier, ran to the bathroom, and vomited it all over myself and all over the floor. I spent the next few hours shaking and dry heaving and thinking about how I'm going to hide this from my mom. After at least an hour and a half worth of having a panic attack, I realized that I now need to do something to at least be in my mom's good graces right now. I started

cleaning the house and started making dinner, hoping that she would come home, drinking a whole bottle of wine, and pass out drunk. And this whole thing would blow over without her finding out. I spent the next few hours cleaning, peeking out the windows, hoping John's mom wasn't coming looking for me and trying to get my story straight about what I did today. Eventually, my mom came home. I want to say it was around 7 p.m. at this point. I greeted her at the door, tried to be all nice and sweet, like how kids act when they did

something wrong or if the principal is going to be calling home. And I swear, not even 20 minutes after she walked in, John's mom was at the front door, hearing that door being pounded on and the doorbell being rung, had me ready to puke once again. I tried to brush it off telling my mom it's nobody, or like it was Mormons or something or someone trying to see something. But she opened the door anyways. Right there on our doorstep was John's mom, face red, eyes puffy from crying, and doing that stutter breathing people do after they ball. She absolutely tore into my mom. I'm sure the neighbors found out from her screaming

well before it became the hot neighborhood gossip for the month. I remember my mom just standing there dumbfounded. I mean, who could blame her? I was sneaky, did something that seemed out of the realm of possibility for a little 12-year-old kid to be doing, and blatantly tried to cover it up. I remember my mom grabbing me by my hair and started wailing on me in front of John's mom.

At this point, both my mom and John's mom are screaming at me, and I'm screaming from being hit so hard, it was all kind of blurry. My mom pushed me to the ground and went outside with John's mom, and I could hear the yelling through the door. I sat there on the floor and cried harder than I ever have. It turns out that when John's leg got caught in the snow, it broke his foot, and damaged two of his toes so badly, they had to be amputed. The fact that he was wearing bulky snow boots, multiple layers under thick snow pants, and the fact that kids are pretty bendy is the only reason he didn't lose his whole foot. Or worse, his whole leg. At least, that's what the doctors has told John's mom and family.

I got the absolute beating of a lifetime that night. And one to match two days after from my dad for it. So I have the scars of my back and neck from it. And to this day, I've never seen my mom so animalistic from anger. John wasn't in school for a while, is what I heard. He was multiple grades behind me, and when I finally saw him again, he was in a huge cast from his knees to his toe, and was in a wheelchair, probably because he was too young to figure out crutches. And I avoided him like the plague. I spent the next year that we lived in the house, taking every route possible to avoid walking, riding my bike or skateboard, or doing anything even remotely close to John's house.

Any time I'd see his siblings, they'd throw things at me, hurl insults, or chase me down, I'd perhaps. practically lived in fear for an entire year of that family before we moved because our housing situation was also caught in the crossfire of my parents' divorce. Every time I'd see John outside his house, he hobbled along or walked with a very noticeable limp. I never got to apologize in a way that matters. I mean, hell, what 12-year-old kid could. And it ate me alive every single day, to the point where I was scared to go near his house, have any of his family members see him at the store, at school or in the green belt, and I had nightmares about it for years afterwards. Eventually, the snowblower was gotten rid of, along with tons of my dad's stuff, but every day,

I'd see it in the garage and just have this absolute gut-wrenching feeling. To this day, I still feel horribly guilty. I looked John up on Facebook a while back. He's got a kid now. And in a video with him and his fiancee playing with her daughter, you can still see he walks with a slight limp. I doubt he'll ever see this or find this, but I just want him to know. I'm genuinely sorry for the effect of my stupidity and idiotic actions have had on his life.

I was stupid to think I had the capacity, let alone the capabilities, to take on something like that. And even now, I think about them whenever I'm using any kind of tools or machinery in and outside of my job. Thanks for taking the time to read this. I know it was long and drawn out. please be safe around tools, machines, or equipment. It only takes a split second to permanently alter or end someone's life or even your own. I used to bully a kid in high school. I sent him an intimacy tape of me and his ex-girlfriend.

He dropped out of school after that and went on to become a drug addict. I feel absolutely horrible about it and I can't get over the feeling that I ruined his life. I was a terrible kid in high school. I was sort of a stereotypical jock bully kind of guy. I specifically bullied this one kid Jack, who I just irrationally hated. I thought he was so unbelievably lame at the time. And me and my friends couldn't resist picking on him. Even just thinking about it makes me cringe.

He was sort of an emo slash scene kid who'd wear anime shirts, which made him a big target for us. He dated a girl named Jess, who apparently they broke up on really bad terms. He would write on MySpace, this was a while ago, that he desperately missed her and wanted her back, and he was so sorry. Jess sort of became friends with our group afterwards,

something I'm sure Jack hated. One day we got drunk together, and Jess was ranted about how much she disliked Jack and that he was such a sad, pathetic person. And eventually, we hooked up and our friends left. We were both sort of, I don't know how to describe it, in this evil, drunken mood. We decided to send a video of us having intimacy to Jack.

The worst part was that, in retrospect, she actually had no real reason to hate Jack. She just hated that he was pathetic and needy. She was a terrible person, too, I suppose. Hanging out with us made her a bully. Jack was never mean or cruel to her. She hated him because she thought he was too much of a loser. I mean, what the fuck was wrong with us that we were like this?

He responded to the video saying that he wants to speak with Jess. And that was it. I told my friends what happened, and they thought it was hilarious. And soon it was spread all over the school. that I had intimacy with Jess and sent the video to Jack. I remember seeing Jack in the hallway, and I saw his face. And it literally pains me to think about it. But at the time, I thought it was awesome.

His face was puffy red, his chin wobbly, his eyes were red. It was clear he was crying before, or maybe the sight of me made him want to cry again. We hysterically laughed at him. him, right to his face, and basically made fun of him by saying that we fucked his girl. I cringe in pain at the memory of that. I literally wish Jack just took out a fucking knife and jabbed us all in the throat. I could not believe we ever thought that was an okay way to fucking treat someone. And 99% of it was just trying to make my friends laugh, trying to see just how cruel we could be to push things to extremes.

I'm not even sure if I can fully understand the mindset I was in. It was a sense of complete superiority and distaste for someone weak like that. Jack would end up switching schools very soon after. Well, first he dropped out of school. Then he went to an alternative school, I think, something like that. Regardless, I found his Facebook page maybe a year or so later. My stomach dropped. It was filled with statuses about his addiction to pills and his attempts at recovery,

lots of stuff about the pain and anguish of his life and how much he struggles with mental issues. It's been a decade. And I still check his Facebook page a lot. And it's the same thing. He's now an age addict. He goes through bouts of recovery, then relapse, then recovery. I cannot help but feel fucking guilty. This happened right when he transferred schools.

He mentioned it in his status that it happened when he left our school. That was when he got addicted to pills. He also mentioned he left his school because everyone hated him there. I sent them a message saying how sorry I was and that I cannot believe I ever acted the way I did and that I apologize to the fullest for how we treated him. He left me on scene, which is, understandable. It sucks. It makes me feel terrible about this. I wish I could just, I don't know,

do something to make up for it. And it makes me feel terrible. I went on to have a great life. I went to a good college and married and have one year old kid. I live in a nice area and a relatively nice house. I sometimes think I'd feel better if it was the kind of trope where the bully has a hard life and the kid getting bullied ends up super successful and the bully ends up a drunken loser. But that isn't what happened. I don't think there's anything in my entire life that I regret as much as what I did to Jack. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, to be honest, you literally ruin someone's life. You should feel like shit. Someone else comments underneath that saying the streams of comments saying exactly,

this are what every bullied person needs to hear. We won't gloss over what the bully has done. An apology won't be enough. And we won't diminish the guilt the bully should feel. Someone else comments saying, leave him alone. You have done quite enough to him. Realize you have to reach out for your own satisfaction and not because you think it'll help him. You want absolution. He is not obligated to give you anything. If you must say anything, send him a letter. Tell him you don't want or expect him to respond. Don't sugarcoat what you did. You're honest here about how much of a dickhead you are,

so I have every reasonable expectation that you can do that for him. Focus on being a better person to the people you have met. And consider becoming a mentor for teenage boys. They desperately need role models who know how to own up for their bullshit mistakes and apologize. You can also post publicly on social media about what you did and how much you regret. credit. You don't have to go into the specific details of effing his ex and sending the video to him, but if you mention it to the people who knew about it then, we'll know about it now. And then someone else says, fucking hate people like you. Apologies don't mean shit at this point.

What's done is done. Someone else says, the only atonement for this would be to become an advocate against bullying. Talk at schools, get involved in community. You won't though. You're only here for the relief from your guilt. Here's to hope when your child doesn't run into someone like you. Someone else says, you do have a hard life, O.P. You have to live with the knowledge that the world is in some regards a worse place for having you in it. And that's going to be hard. Maybe the person you victimized will never forgive you.

Maybe you will never be able to fix your mistakes. However, you should reflect on this incident every. time you're face with the opportunity to treat someone with compassion. I let my little lie snowball into a big lie. Now my neighbor is in jail. My parents were out gambling last month and left me in charge of the house. I was trying to learn how to handle my dad's gun when it went off going through the TV, wall, and toilet. I didn't know what to do, so I made up a fake story of a burglary to get out of trouble. I had to file a police report and everything,

and I did my best to not make the person seem like someone I know. But in the end, they ended up questioning my neighbor, who I guess did have previous burglary charges from 20 years ago. I had to go to the police station and ask a few more questions. They laid some photos out in front of me and asked me if anyone looked familiar. I immediately said yes to my neighbor. I didn't want to get him in trouble, but the police seemed so eager to get me to say yes. So I did.

I'm not good under pressure. Now my neighbor is in jail. The police are holding him as my made-up villain. What I am looking for is advice on how to stay out of trouble. I think if I just keep my story straight, then everything will work out fine. My neighbor has committed crimes in the past, so overall, I am not too concerned about his story being more believable than mine. I want to come clean, but I don't think I can.

I just want to get this over with. And oh my God, this is just ridiculous. I feel so bad for his poor neighbor that just got framed for a crime he obviously didn't do. Oh my God, I hope the OPE actually came clean, but let's get into the comment. Someone says, mate, you are a disgrace. A man accepts the consequences of his actions.

The way you are talking in this confession just makes me sick. Your whole tone is about getting yourself out of trouble, even though an innocent man is facing dire consequences due to your actions. You won't progress anywhere in life if you don't accept responsibility. It's time you ought to. Not only for this innocent man, but for yourself and how you're going to grow in the future. Take a good, hard look in the mirror. Jeez, you need to reevaluate something.

Oh, and this isn't a little lie, you fucking moron. Furthermore, guns aren't toys. Someone else says, I'm going to give you advice from one human to another right now. You fucked up, mate. You fucked up royal. Because of your stupid lie, an innocent man is in jail. God knows what he's feeling. God knows what is happening to him.

Okay, now let's take a step back. you know you fucked up, you're confessing it. You have two options only. Number one, sit your parents down and tell them you have been thinking about it a lot, and you have an important confession to make because you did something that got way out of hand. Had no idea, it would result in such consequences for an innocent person, you feel awful, you want to do the right thing, ask them for advice. This path is the path that will lead to them informing the police.

You possibly having to face consequences for your actions, which could easily be a fine or a small amount of prison time, or number two, do nothing, just forget about it. Most people pick number two. Hell, I'd pick number two because I'm not going to jail because of a lie I fucked up on. I'm also a piece of shit who's not strong at all physically or mentally. I have to live with that for the arrest. of my life. Just like you have to, I think. And then someone else comments saying,

this is the most horrible thing I have ever seen so far on Reddit. So congrats on that. You are underage. You are not going to jail. You need to confess right now. Tell your parents what happened. You won't go to jail. You might get some probation, but you are a kid. Probation is nothing. Your post was well written, so I am not going to ask you if you are an idiot or not. But do you think your neighbor is an idiot? Nothing on this planet will turn a normal person into a cold-blooded killer faster than undeserved jail time. More than likely, your neighbor is being held under suspicion. They can't hold him forever on that. He will get out, he will be angry, and if the guy is smarter than a pavement, he is going to know 100% certainty

that he is in jail because your dumbass shot a hole in your wall and blamed it on him so your parents wouldn't spank you. Being worried about your parents being mad at you should be the least of your fucking worries. You did a couple of hundred bucks worth of damage to your house you didn't burn it down. Being worried about what the innocent ex-con you got imprisoned is going to do to you when the police realize he wasn't involved. And they will because punchline, he wasn't. should be the only thing on your mind.