Snook - Deranged Anonymous Confessions

Episode Date: June 9, 2025

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Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another anonymous confessions video. And today we're getting into some deranged anonymous confessions. These are all confessions sent in by you guys. And if you'd like to see your confession in a future video or something you want to get off your chest, send it to this email on screen now. And comment down below if you'd like to see more videos like this in the future. They're interesting to read, interesting to record. And you guys seem to find them interesting as well.

So I'm going to keep making them as long as you guys want them. So comment down below. Let me know if you would like to see more. in the future. And please like and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know. And all right, without further ado, let's get into some deranged anonymous confessions. I faked cancer. Hello, Snook. I'm a passive viewer and watched one of your confession videos. I don't expect you to add these to your videos, but I really need to get these off of my chest. I'll be sending you three confessions. Apologies for flooding your inbox,

all of which are horrible and unforgivable. But I feel like I'd feel a little better if I shared them, even if they just sit in your inbox. My first confession is that I faked cancer. When I was 18 to 20 years old, I faked having cancer. I can't remember what kind, but I did it to avoid facing the consequences of skipping classes when I was in college.

To explain further, I was deeply depressed in college, to the point where I never left my room, other than to grab food or attend class when there was a presentation. I even went as far as finding a website that provided fake doctor's notes for you if you paid a fee, which I stupidly did. I also need you to know that I was going through a hypomanic state, which, to explain my state during that time, to better understand how hypomania looked like for me was, it felt like a half-dream state. Everything I did was technically under my control, but it was, wasn't coming from a rational place. I wasn't hallucinating or hearing voices, but I was emotionally erratic, spending money I didn't have, chasing dopamine like it owed me something, and of course,

faking a horrible disease. It was a horrible time, and I made horrible decisions. I convinced pretty much everyone I had cancer because they had no real reason not to believe me. I even S-Hed myself to make it look like I had a surgery scar. I never asked for money. or sought support from charities. So while what I did was horrible and fucking detestable, I didn't technically commit any crimes. I'm 28 now, fully lucid and in control of my actions. I regret the hell out of what I did and pledged to never lie again, though.

It is something I still struggle with. I lied a lot as a child to protect myself from a horribly abusive situation. I was physically, spiritually, mentally essayed as a child, in line was a survival tactic. My mom was actually diagnosed with breast cancer in late 2022, and unfortunately, the cancer has spread to her lymphatic system. It's not looking good. But seeing my family, seeing my mother going through cancer and knowing I lied about having it myself, makes me so angry at myself. I'm aware I was in a horrible mental state, but still, I will live with that guilt every day.

I did have a therapist, but unfortunately passed away from cancer, but I'm finding another to further help my mental health. I'm still in a bad spot, but I am much more mentally sound and fully acknowledged that despite my horrible mental state when I was younger, it is no excuse to fake having such a horrible disease that affects so many people today, including people, I love very much. And for those wondering if I ever confessed to faking the cancer, no, I have not, and I don't think I ever will. I catfished people. Hello, Snook, this is the second confession I'm sending you again. Sorry for flooding your inbox. This one is about how I catfish numerous people from the ages of 13 to, I think, 20-something. I think my early 20s is when I finally grew a brain and stopped being an absolute scumbag.

Not that me stopping absolves me from my detestable actions. To provide some much-needed context before I tell you more about my terrible actions, I'm a survivor of horrible abuse. From the ages of 6 to 14, I was abused in every way someone can be. I was raised in a very religious household, and my abuser discovered quite early on that I was exhibiting behavior of a gay person. Basically, I liked people of the same gender. I'm non-binary, but was born a female.

Let's call my abuser Tremaine, since they were almost exactly like the evil stepmother from Cinderella, but on steroids. Anyway, Tremaine was a devout Christian and basically raised me in a conversion camp. I wasn't allowed to attend sex ed. I was accused of trying to be S-word inappropriate with my own family members. Tremaine treated me as a S-word rival with my own father. It was 50 shades of fucked up. I wasn't allowed to use the internet because Trey-Mane accused me of being a raging P-word addict,

and I thought I'd look up inappropriate videos while online. Man, I could go on and on and on. But basically, I had horrible self-esteem issues, extreme body dysmorphia, and I developed an ED later on in my life, which I still suffer from at the ripe old age of 28, and I hated who I was, what I was. Being gay was a sin, therefore I was a monster, and deserved to burn hell.

So to cope with these terrible thoughts and feelings, I pretended to be other people. I catfished my fellow classmates, created untold amounts of drama. I was eventually found out, I mean, I wasn't being smart about it, but I ended up escaping from my abusive living situation and living with my other parent.

Trey Mane was my step-parent, and their partner at the time. I continued catfishing people there, and I told people I had an older brother and pretended to be him. I even dated one of my own friends. I managed to keep up that lie until I was in the 10th grade. Along the way, I pretended to be so many different people. To me, it was nice for being someone else than myself. I could be anyone I wanted to be, do whatever I wanted to do, date whoever I wanted to. But the older I got and the more I healed for my trauma, the more I realized how horrible catfishing was, how it destroyed lives and made people so distrustful. I thought back to all the people's lives I had potentially destroyed all the trauma I had caused for my sins. Finally,

I stopped catfishing people. I've told my best friend about my catfishing tendencies, and unfortunately, I don't regret what I did. That's something I'm actively working to address. And if I ever meet one of the people I harmed in person, I will go up to them and apologize. I don't expect to be forgiven. Hell, I don't deserve it. If you end up putting this in a video snook, I want people to know that I got my due diligence. I was catfished for two years by someone, and I got a nice dose of reality. My best friend even roast my ass from past mistakes and fully tells me I got what I deserved with getting myself catfished. And for anyone wondering, I'm in a much better place now. I'm 28 years old, non-binary, and a raging pansexual, and damn proud of who I am.

But for anyone who is currently, or is thinking of catfishing people, don't. Just don't. I was lucky were the people I affected, never committed self-deletion, but that is something that can and will happen if you fuck with people's lives like that. People aren't play things. They aren't there to help you make you feel better about yourself. You will regret it later in life. And if, God forbid, someone commits self-deletion as a result of your horrible actions, it will destroy you from the inside out. And to be frank, I hope it does.

I may not regret from my past actions, but as I said before, I'm actively working to make sure I feel guilt, that I feel horrible for the lives I toyed with carelessly and cruelly, all because I had such a low opinion of myself. Don't catfish. It can and will ruin lives. I was a horrible sibling. Hello, Snook, this is my third and final confession, and the one I feel the most guilt for. Once this message sends, I'm deleting this email. But as a child, I was horribly abused.

I spoke about the abuse in a past confessional email, but to sum it up from the ages of 6 to 14, I was physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and essayed by step-parent. Now, that step-parent, who I'll call Trayman, and my bio-parent had two children together, my half-siblings. My first sibling was born when I was six, which is when the abuse started. My second sibling was born when I was seven. I was a horrible sibling to them. I put them through the same abuse I went through. I won't go into any detail because, A, I'm ashamed, and B, it's not my story to tell. I treated these two so terribly from the moment they were brought into the world and up until I moved out.

To provide some context so I can give you a better idea, my grandfather was a diagnosed psychopath, manipulative, abusive, unfeeling textbook psycho. My mother exhibited the same symptoms as her father. Manipulative, abusive, she had emotions, but they weren't, I don't know, as strong as a normal person's emotions would be. According to my grandma, my mother was super happy when she was pregnant with me, which leads me to believe she had an imbalance of some kind. Anyway, I was apparently a happy baby, but as I got older, I was cruel. I seemed to feel joy whenever I harmed my cousins or caused them distress. I would

lie through my teeth, and overall, I was just a problematic child who desperately needed a psychological help, and in horrible abuse from a step-parent, and I was pretty much a feral human when I finally escaped from my abusive home. Now, for those of you who don't know, it's common for children, experiencing abuse to lash out to those weaker than them, which, unfortunately, were my siblings. My biological parent has told me time and time again that they both suffer from PTSD. I'm willing to bet that they have C PTSD from the shit I put them through, nightmares, and have a hard time recovered from the terror I instilled upon them. As a result, I have pulled away from the family.

I refuse to force my way back into their lives unless they are ready for it. I've gone to therapy. Unfortunately, my therapist has passed away. couple months ago. And during my sessions, my therapist has told me that while my actions aren't excused what I did because of my abuse and undiagnosed mental illnesses, I have ADHD, borderline personality disorder, anxiety, depression, hyper arousal, which is like paranoia but not as strong. I can never undo what I did to my siblings. Never. But what I can do is give them the space and time they need to heal. If they want me back in their lives, fantastic. We'll do that on their own

terms and at their own pace. But if they never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I will never try to force my way back into their lives. In a fucked up way, I know what they're going through, the nightmares, the triggers, the dread of potentially having to see that person again. But unlike my abusers, I refuse to disrupt their healing journey. I will do what I can to help them heal. But other than that, I will stay out of their lives unless they stay differently. Anyway, those are my three confessions. If you do end up reading them in a video, I hope my confessions maybe help people in some weird way, or maybe they encourage others to send in their confessions or even take accountability for their past sins.

Something I still need to do myself. Either way, thanks for providing a platform for people to take some load off. Stay awesome, Snook. My brother killed my dog. Hi Snook, it's really nice to connect with you. Before I get into anything else, I want to genuinely ask how you're doing. I know your confession series centers on heavy and emotional confessions. And hearing those kinds of things consistently can take a toll on your mental health.

I hope you're taking care of yourself, resting, talking to people when you need to, and remember to eat and stay hydrated. Your fans drew the care. It would be sad knowing you're not at your best. And don't worry, I'm doing great. I pace myself to these videos, but I feel like I'm doing a good deed, letting you guys get, you know, some things off your chest and helping people watching to realize they're not alone. I see it as a net positive, not a net negative.

A lot of the true crime can definitely take a toll, but this I feel like is kind of providing a sort of therapy for a lot of you guys out there. So maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong. Comment down below if those feelings I have are justified or I'm kind of imagining those things. But from the comments I've read and the emails I've gotten, it seems like a net positive.

And that means a lot to have kind of that positive influence in people's lives. And yeah, you guys are the best. Let's get into your confession. Anyway, on to the reason I'm messaging you. This is my confession, and it's a long one. So thank you in advance for reading. Also, I've made sure it fits with YouTube's guidelines, and I've cut it in half with less detail than I'd like,

so I apologize if some things sound rushed slash confusing. Who I am. I'm a 23-year-old female, and I've been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, which many only know by its stigma-heavy labels like psychopathy or sociopathy. People often assume that means I'm violent or lack humanity. That's false. Having ASPD just means I process emotions like guilt, sadness, and happiness differently. I don't feel remorse instinctively, but I show what's called cognitive remorse.

If I hurt someone, I apologize, reflect, and try to do better. It's logical, not emotional, but it's still genuine in my own way. I've never hurt someone for fun. I don't enjoy cruelty. I'm not Hollywood's idea of a psychopath. I'm just me. And I try every day to be a good person, just like everybody else. My confession.

This is the story of how I believe my brother caused the death of my dog, and how no one in my family will admit it. It started with a rough childhood. Like many people with personality disorders face, I was the black sheep, rebellious, misunderstood. My younger brother, three years younger than me, was quieter, chaotic, and reactive. As kids we fought, I teased, he retaliated by destroying my stuff. It escalated until I stopped antagonizing him altogether, but he never really stopped trying to get back at me.

In 2019, we got a dog. And he immediately attached to me. He was quiet, gentle, didn't bark, didn't cause trouble. He was a really good dog, and he just wanted to be by myself. We were soulmates. It was the first time I had that connection to a living being. Everyone agreed. He wasn't a family dog. He was mine. And that's when the jealousy started, especially from my younger brother. He got rough with the dog sometimes. I caught him a few times and stopped it, but I often worried about what happened when I wasn't there. Fast forward to a chaotic divorce. My parents fought

constantly. My older brother shut down. My little sister who has disabilities needed help. My younger brother was out of control, drinking, drugs, girls, outburst of anger, and I, the one with the emotionalist diagnosis, was the one keeping it all together, kept everyone at sane as possible. One night, I asked my mom to talk to my younger brother, after he posted a video of himself drunk driving with terrified exchange students in the car, yelling for help. She did, and he took it down, but then screamed at me for 20 minutes, told me to die, and he'd make me pay. That same night, he came downstairs with this energy I can only describe as ominous or evil. I watched in my peripherals as he oddly went straight to the kitchen knives.

My dog who never barked, growled, and placed themselves between me and my brother. From the moment he took his first step into view of him, that's when I knew. Something was seriously wrong. My mother rushed down, confused about the dog's behavior, ultimately caused my brother to snap out of his state. I noticed he glared at my dog and ran upstairs. That was the day he probably set his sights on something less criminal and more out of revenge due to plans of being spoiled. The night my dog died.

A couple weeks later, my brother and I got into a small fight because he'd stolen parts for my PC. I left it alone and went to work out upstairs in my room with headphones in. My sister was put to sleep, my mother on the phone with men, my older brother in his room downstairs playing league. and my younger brother in his room next to mine. Mid-workout, I heard running footsteps in my brother's room slam shut and lock. That was at 11.15 p.m.

At 11.45 p.m., I went to get water and to put my dog in his kennel, locked doors, and doggy doors. When I saw what I thought was a coat on the floor, when I looked closer, I realized it was dog-like. I called my dog's name. No answer. I quickly turned the light on to see my dog with a bag over his head. He had suffocated.

And in that moment, I knew I couldn't resuscitate him. He was gone. And what lay there was no longer my best friend. I ran upstairs screaming. My mom came down crying. My older brother held our dog's body alongside my mother. I watched as something pegged me as odd. As I initially grabbed my mother,

I looked up to see my younger brother peeking through his door. When he saw me, he quickly shut it and locked it. The look in his eye, angry and seemed to say, it was your fault. My older brother went up to the stairs a while after holding him for a while. I heard him yelling coming from my younger brother. I already know. He suffocated.

Then came the slamming of the door. When we asked him the second time the following morning to come say goodbye, he angrily refused. Over the next month, he wouldn't talk to me. Every time the dog was brought up, questioning how on earth our dog died, he would get angry, explode and rage, and run out of the room. He had tells. Twitches. mannerisms when he lied, and they were all there.

Every time the dog was mentioned. One night, he came into my room crying and said he was sorry. I tried to console him. I asked if it was about the divorce. No, he replied. Then the dog. He looked up, terrified, guilt-ridden, and ran out. One years later, I moved out for a while, then back in with my mom.

She asked me to set up a memorial shrine for the dog with his ashes. I did. Coming home later that day, it was gone. All the photos, memorabilia, and urn. Missing. My little sister who can't lie, she's severely disabled, told me my brother touched it all. I confronted him calmly.

He exploded at me, insisting again that he didn't hurt the dog, that he didn't kill the dog, and that I always blame him. I never said anything about hurting the dog. I simply asked where his ashes were and if he moved them. But he kept repeating, it wasn't my fault. Eventually, I found the ashes shoved in the farthest cupboard in the house, ashes spilled everywhere. Picture frames broken. I knew it was him. My mother went to ask me why he did such things and he yelled. He discussed me. She deserved it. She ruined my life. I don't want anything to do

with that dog. I don't even want to see pictures. See his ashes or anything to do with that stupid dog. I didn't hurt him. It's all her fault. As he went on rambling about how I ruined his life and exposed the addictions, he started crying. My mom let him be and told me it was best to move out. I moved out of state, wanting to leave the burden I took on as my older sibling, and thinking I was the only one strong enough to hold people together. I realized that I had dreams, and I was the one pushing them to the side. About two years after his untimely departure, I received a text. As I now have a new phone, and this text no longer exists, I will try to tell you the key points in this message. I'm sorry, they're a horrible sister. Let's make Mom proud. You're the one who

ruin my life, you're going to hell. But I still love you. I'm going to hell, but so are you. But I still love you because you're my blood and I have to. I hate you, but I love you and I've done nothing wrong. Let's stop fighting and forgive each other for mom's sake. As confused as all get out, I responded by saying, Womp, I love you. I'm sorry you're hurting by my past actions, but what you did, as much as I love you do, I cannot just forgive and forget. You've yet to apologize. and I do not have time for your mean comments. I then decided to leave him with the message. I know what you did.

I was blocked immediately after. I called my mother to check on him, and she called me back saying he was sitting on his bed, heading his hands, crying. After that night, he's looked at me with a softer, I'm sorry, I'll do anything to make it up to you look in his eyes. We don't talk. I'm still blocked, and I'm happy to move on.

I miss my dog, and as much I would go back in time to fix everything, I wouldn't. I'd only fix the little. way he died. He deserved a better, peaceful way. His death met my mom could find a new house. I was able to move out on my own, and overall made it where he could have focused while the divorce got messier and housing situations got worse. To this day, I'm glad he wasn't around for all that. Why I'm telling you this, I've never shared this, not even with my mother. People with ASPD are

told we can't feel anything. No one believes someone like me when I say I love that dog, that I still love that dog. I do. I wish I remembered telling him I loved him, but I don't. And I regret that. That day, I think my brother, out of jealousy, anger, or spite, took him from me. And no one will admit it. No one will punish him. The world just moved on. But I didn't. And I can't. This is the only way I know to speak it into reality. And as much as I'd like to cry, I cannot. My emotions feel trapped deep inside of me, and it's very lonely. So thank you for reading. It means more than I can explain. I'm sorry for the heaviness this might bring you and the viewers, but I'd love to hear what everyone else has to say about this and what you snook thinks as well. With love, your misunderstood

psychopath. P.S. I have more crazy stories. I will be sending them in in the near future. Hey, thank you so much for sharing this. And in all honesty, I don't think I have a ton to add. I think you really did a good way of wrapping this all up. You didn't really leave it open-ended, but hopefully you and your brother can repair your guy's relationship. I'm sure that'll be hard. I don't know if you even want to. I assume he doesn't want to since he still has you blocked. But for your mom's sake, for your sake, for your brother's sake, for your family's sake, I think it's better if you not forgive and forget because you even said that's not the bright move. I just think you, I don't know, maybe, you guys can maybe get to recognize it. I don't know.

I'm sure he won't ever admit to killing your dog, which is horrible. I'm sorry to go through that. Scary, dramatic. And hopefully you can move forward. Like I said, I didn't really have a ton to add, but you asked for my opinion. And I'm curious what the viewers, so everyone watching, what do you think about this confession or story down below? Please leave some feedback, guys. I'm sure it will help her a lot. And thank you so much for sending it in. I appreciate the honesty and just being open.

On to the next one. Hey, Snook. First, I'm sure you read this more than enough, but thank you for creating this space for us to share. It means a lot. I'm becoming an alcoholic, and I'm well aware of it, and I don't want to stop. I've been 21 for two months now,

and I have a drink every day on the hour drive to work and the hour drive back from work. Sometimes I keep a drink or two in my, car for lunch. I don't know why I have no urge to pull myself out of this. I think that I secretly want it. All my life I've been around drinkers. Both of my parents have been functional alcoholics since I was born. Most of my childhood memories are coming out to the local gastropubs and watching my parents drink for hours on end. It's just normal to me that when you get home from work, that the first thing you do is crack open to a gold one. I've been listening to in writing folk punk

music for the better half of a decade now, and most of my songs are about drinking, the good days in high school, where you go into Walmart and just confidently walk out the front doors with a handle of Tito's and a 30-pack of Miller High Lives, going to sleep with a good buzz and get to good night's rest, a fun night out with a boys full of vodka bowls and frequent bumps throughout the night. Drinking just makes me happy. Feels nostalgic, and it takes away my pre-existing downright crippling anxiety. I know what I have to lose, but I'm so. overly confident that I'll be able to hold it together that I won't lose it and at the same time rationally aware that the same time down the road one slip-up means living in my O2 Honda.

I just got home from work and I had three beers on the drive home and I had a minus 196C when I walked in the door. I weigh less than 120 pounds to put in perspective on how those affected me. I don't know what I plan on getting out of riding this, but it was the only thing I felt comfortable writing about. Thanks for reading this, Snook. Keep doing what you're doing, brother. It's truly honorable, and I have a good day. This message was sent by Slyman. And hey, man, I know you didn't ask for any sort of feedback on this, but I think you kind of opened up a little bit right there

on when you said you had crippling anxiety. I think that is maybe where a lot of this stems from, and this is not sustainable. I've had plenty of people who have drinking problems right into me, and they more often than not have an anxiety or depression problem, and the drinking masks that. So I think the best thing you need to do is talk to somebody. I don't usually advocate for medication immediately,

but maybe some anxiety medication could help you out greatly because that is a lot better than drinking and driving, which you just admitted to doing. That is not good. Drinking on the job, please stop. This is just going to go down a road that is not going to have a good end. I recommend stopping while, you know, now before it gets even worse, which this could easily spiral into.

I really think you should talk to somebody about your anxiety. I think that might be a big stem of it. I'm not saying don't drink. I'm just saying, you know, keep it under control. But drinking all day, every day, when he just turned 21, is not healthy. You know, drink maybe just on the weekends or just on Friday. You know, or take it a day at a time. That's what I usually tell people. Take it a day at a time. Just say today, I'm not going to drink. And that's how you, so you don't need to be like,

oh, I'm going to stop drinking all week or whatever. Just take it a day at a time. And you might have some slip ups, but try to focus on getting better. I really think you need to stop now before it gets into something really bad. And I think a lot of people watching this will agree with me. but yeah, this could really go down a bad road. So I really, really hope you can get a stop to this and stop this destructive behavior. I wish you the best man and get healthy. Hi, Snook, I just finished your latest video

and thought, why not share a confession? Whether this makes it into a video or not, thank you for reading and allowing me to get this off my chest. About two months ago, I had my first edible. I'm not an active weed user and only wanted to try an edible because I cannot smoke, and I was told the ones I bought were light on the weed slash good for beginners. A whole week went by, and it only felt like two days.

I could barely get out of bed. Every conversation with anyone didn't feel real. I watched hours passed and could only panic knowing times going by and way too fast. I've never wished for anything as much as I've wished I'd wake up and feel better. I was so sure this would forever be my life, that my brain was deteriorating and I'd never go back to normal. I cut my hand during this time and I didn't feel a thing. For four to seven days, I felt nothing.

physically, except for the excruciating pain I felt in my head. I live with my parents still, and they would not be happy with me if they knew what I took. I had to lie through my high that I was sick and very, very out of it. I'm shocked they believed me. To this day, some things that seem off make me worry that things aren't real. It had caused dissociation and anxiety. No one I knew, understood, or knew the true hell I was going through, and it brings me a lot of anxiety even thinking about weed. I'm sure there are people who think I'm weak for not being able to handle it, but that was genuinely the worst experience of my life, and I never want to go back. Tend this off on a good note, and with the moral of the story, don't ever let people convince

you drugs are cool. Stay safe. Don't do things that can have negative effects on you. I can say that after this, I will only live out my life sober. I never want to experience the hell again, and I hope my story can help people make good choices for their life. Thank you for reading. Hey Snook, I wanted to start off by saying thank you. Don't forget to make time for yourself reading so many confessions with so many sad endings can be hard on a person. Please take care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard. This story is one I've told a select few people, but none of my family knows. It's a sad one with a very happy ending. Back in 2017 through 2018, I went through some really bad stuff. I'm not going to talk about it. The details aren't

necessary for the story. Besides, I haven't processed all of it quite yet. I was only 12 and scared of everything. Unfortunately, I refused therapy and started to spiral. I was going through a depressive episode. By a bowl or two is an awful thing. It was traveling down the darkest paths of my head. The best way I can describe it is I was on the outside, looking in. Everything I did and said didn't feel real, and I wanted it to stop. I tried alcohol, which only ample, amplified the feeling. My life was turning into a nightmare I was creating for myself. The only option of my head was S-word, so I planned it. I was going to do it after my family watched our weekly movie together, late in night so no one would notice until morning. I stayed up and at 2 a.m. started

on my note. I got everything ready. I went through a brief moment of sanity, or insanity, based on how you view it, and started talking to my dead grandma in my head. I begged her to give me reason to stay, any reason at all. Everyone I knew and loved was asleep, and I thought all hope is lost. All of a sudden, my little sister, only eight years old, sat straight up. Minutes prior, she was snoring like a baby. I turned off my little nightlight when I heard her in the smallest voice talked to me. I feel like I need to say this. I love you. And she laid back down. Snoring again only a minute later. I sat there staring in the dark and realized Grandma listened. She gave me a reason.

She gave me hope. And I thank the world every day for creating my beautiful sister, a built-in best friend. Since then, I've graduated high school, pursuing a nursing degree, and have an amazing boyfriend of two and a half years, looking like a fiancé at any point. My sister is now in high school and the smartest, most talented woman I know. I still wonder what would have happened if I didn't ask for a reason, if I didn't look for any hope. I want to say this by saying the usual. to people. I started a journal where I write my favorite things about each month and give myself

a reason to live. Things to look forward to. People love you. You just got to look past the fog and into the eyes of those who care about you. You'll make it out. You'll be okay. We will all be okay. Once again, thank you. And I hope this wasn't too much for you to read. You're amazing. Hey, Snook, I'm crying as I write this. Getting straight into it, I have schizophrenia. I would say that I'm rather lucky as I have friends and family who support me, but I still would have wished this illness upon anyone. I began to show symptoms at the age of 10 and received an official diagnosis at 17. Before this, I had been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, autism, spectrum disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder. The full five infinity stones.

The peak of my psychosis happened when I was about 14 to 17 years old. I've had everything from audible hallucinations to visual and physical and even smell. Voices in my head telling me to kill myself. Voices in my head telling me to kill everyone else. The sensation of my flesh riding with maggots, crawling throughout my skin. One of my closest friends being an imposter, people watching me through my eyes and recording me through my ears. I've had everything.

Nobody seems to understand how terrifying schizophrenia really is. I've received treatment now. medications that have ruined my weight, sleep in memory, but there's something you don't forget. Fear. That pure gut-wrenching fear. The fear while you lay in bed while the covers over your head in pitch black darkness

because you're afraid that people will look through your eyes and track your address. The fear of voices in your head, the ones you don't recognize, laughing at you, telling you that the only way to finally be free is to grab the knife, grab the pills, and shut them up yourself, even if that means you yourself to say.

appear too. Then you see it. Delight. Your best friend, a quiet boy your age. He walks into your life with no opinions, no home, and no personality, but he's there for you. His presence functions like a dream. Nothing makes sense. But you finally have someone to be your everything. His name was Daniel, and I loved him, with everything I had. Part of me still does. He would sit with me after school and smile, quiet. All I knew is that he was good for me. I can hardly remember him now. He wore a purple scarf and thick, round glasses, dark hair. I don't remember his eyes. I can't remember his eyes.

That should have been an indication. At around 16, I started new drugs to help fix my life. They worked. The voices faded. The rotting subsided it. The people in the trees left me alone. It was wonderful. It was perfect.

Perfect until I noticed that Daniel left too. I was still so sick, so I didn't realize what had happened. I would stay out past my curfew Just looking for my best friend Roaming the streets like a lost soul I would beg my parents to drive me around To look for my lost friend The day I realized that my best friend never existed

Was unimaginably painful I'd write to him every day I was told to let him go So now I only write to him on his birthday The 8th of April I miss him so much I have a new best friend now, a real one I love him more than I've ever loved that anyone

but there is still a crumbling in my brain. My current best friend and I will probably fall out because we're so young. I dread that day. I resent it. It's terrible when I catch myself wishing for Daniel over the man who has done nothing but loved me. Daniel is for me. Daniel is me.

I am Daniel. My relationship with Daniel is now over. Once something can't grow anymore, it rots. So now I'm stuck watching my relationship with Daniel with her way. I hope I can hold on. to some of the pieces, but that may be wishful thinking. I already can't remember if his eyes were blue or brown, if his hair was wavy or curly, if his face was flushed or pale.

All I remember is that I loved him, and he loves me. Schizophrenia is a monster. All these jokes about being schizo are slightly painful, but it's best to suffer in silence and explain to someone that you yourself are in fact the crazy one. Thank you, Snook, for giving me a platform to speak. speak on. You're a fantastic person. Much love to anyone out there, particularly those who can relate to me. Very well. And thank you so much for sharing that. I don't have anything to really add, but that was

very impactful. That was the most impactful story on, you know, mental illness such as schizophrenia I've ever read. I just want to say thank you for sending them in. I really appreciate it. I'm sure I help anyone out there who might be struggling with something and might feel a little bit alone. But anyone watching you're not alone. You've got this. Stay strong. Things will get better. I just want to say thank you for sending that in.

On to the next one. Hi, Snook. First, I just want to say thank you for giving people the space to share their stories. I really appreciate the way you handle each confession with care and respect. I've been watching your videos for a while now. And I love how calm, honest, and comforting your voices. Your channel has become one of those safe spaces for me. And I'm really grateful for that.

I'd like to share something that's been on my mind for a long time now. If you choose to read it on your channel, I'd appreciate it a lot. Please keep my name private. When I was in elementary school, we lived in an apartment building. My uncle lived up to theirs and had access to the rooftop. I used to go up there a lot to hang out with my cousins. Most of the girl cousins were older, so I usually played with the cousin who was my age. We play Xbox, Minecraft, zombies, wrestling, just regular kid stuff.

We'd usually go up after school and head back down before. got dark, but there was one night that stands out to this day, mostly because of what my mom remembers about it. She said I was unusually persistent about sleeping over at my uncles that night. I kept insisting, which wasn't normal for me. Eventually, she gave in. But later that night, I came back downstairs crying, hard. My mom didn't know what had happened, and I couldn't explain it either. I just remember crying and feeling overwhelmed. She made a small bed for me on the floor next to her and my dad. Then in the middle of the night,

she said something really scary happened. I started shaking. My whole body stiffened, and I trembled like I was having a seizure. My eyes were open, and I wasn't responding. She said I locked up and froze. I don't remember any of it.

We talked about it again recently, and something about it hit me differently. She's always said that my uncle gave her a weird vibe. And looking back, I do remember feeling uncomfortable around him sometimes. My cousin, too. He'd get a little too physical when we played, and at the time we didn't think anything about it. But now I'm starting to wonder.

After that night, I was put on antidepressants for a while, but I didn't stand them long. What really haunts me is that I basically lost two years of memory after that night. Not completely gone, but I only remember tiny fragments. And even those are mostly from looking at old photos or hearing people talk about things that happened. It still feels like those two years of my life just disappeared. And I still don't know why. I'm not sure what exactly happened that night, but I've started to accept that something probably did. And maybe my brain just did that what it had to do to protect me.

Thanks again for reading this. And thank you for everything you do on your channel. You make people feel less alone from a listener. And all right, guys, that wraps up some deranged anonymous confessions. I hope you enjoyed this video. I enjoyed reading these confessions for you guys. I really hope these videos help you out. And if they do, please comment down below.

I love seeing those comments. I love reading the comments. and I read every single comment on all of these videos. I really love seeing your guys' feedback, positive or negative. I still appreciate it. You guys are the best. Thank you so much for just watching at the end of the video. And please like and subscribe to the channel.

It helps more than you know. And this is Snook. And I'll see you next time. Bye.