Snook - Insane Confession Threads

Episode Date: April 3, 2026

From a user who admits to "killing" his grandfather, to someone who admitted to loving being in war and conflict... these are some Insane Confession Threads. These stories are truly some of the most shocking and depressing stories I've ever read, I hope every OP and emailer in this video is doing better now. Would you like to see me make similar videos in the future? Leave your thoughts down below in the comment section, and make sure to like and subscribe! Please do not attempt to contact anyone talked about in this video. Send a confession to be read! [e-mail] Join the Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠ Follow me on instagram and Spotify! If your story or post was included in today's video and you wish for it to be taken down, please reach out to this email. [e-mail] And yes, I'm a human voice. NEXT SUB GOAL - 1,000,000 subscribers! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to the channel. And today we're getting into some insane confession threads where I read some of your guys' viewers submitted confessions and also some confessions from Reddit. So it is a wild, wild mix. And like the title says, these confessions will be insane, depressing, and just disturbing. So you'll want to make sure to stick around. And I appreciate you stop by means the world. And make sure you like the video and subscribe to the channel. The channel subscriber goals, one million subscribers.

before the end of the year, so please subscribe. And if you'd like to see your confession in a future video, please send it to the email on screen now. Thank you. And all right, this video will be long enough already, so without further ado, let's get into some insane confession threads. I killed my grandfather and lied about it. My grandfather had dementia.

While being a depressing disease, there was some blessing to it. I'm still not sure if he realized what a terrible situation he was in. Eventually, he was made to live in a nursing home. My mom was a single mom and wanted to get money instead of spending it, so she brought him to our house to live in the basement. He surprisingly had quite a bit of money and a financial lady. She would send us money to cover his living expenses. My mom told me if I took care of him, she would pay me.

I was 15 at the time. Now, I had experience with essentially being a nurse. I had taken care of my mom since I was 12 through her health struggles, which ranged from needing IV fluids to packing her injuries, etc. She is a registered nurse and a great teacher. She also hated my grandfather. Homeboy had major health issues and metal plates all up in him, and she pushed him down the stairs.

That was even before. or he was diagnosed with dementia. So I was paid under the table. 100 every two weeks. Separate money for his food diapers and meds. To feed, medicate, bathe,

entertain and do whatever was needed to be done. We had locks put on the doors. He used to sit at the top of the stairs and knock for hours, asking to be let up. Eventually had to screw the window shut. He climbed out one. stole a car and amazingly made it to a different city despite driving on the wrong side of the road. He had canes and wasn't wearing glasses at the time.

I'm still rather impressed by that. It was a high window. A week after he brought him home, I found him with his face cut open, unresponsive in the basement bedroom. Turned out he had blood poisoning from the nursing home, and it passed out and broke the bed. I skipped school and spent the entire day getting blood out of the carpet. He came back and was more coherent. I didn't know how to keep him entertained when I was at school and work. Initially, I gave him books, the radio, TV, and such.

We would go for walks, but then mom didn't allow me to do that. She was embarrassed to have the neighbors see him. I started by cooking him breakfast, making him lunch, and then making him dinner, but he wouldn't eat it, or he'd hide it in the places like his diaper. So he subsided on those health milk drinks, cookies, and crackers. I made him eat a good meal once in a while, but I essentially had to feed him each bite. He would tell me everything he did that day at night, things from probably 30 years ago. He'd asked to speak to his mom or brothers or go to the bank.

He'd get me confused with his dead daughter. though that was mostly near the end. He even forgot my grams was dead a week after I told him. I'm not sure if that's a blessing or not. For almost two years, I took care of him. He got bed sores, colds, and never left the basement for the last year and a half. I fixed him up. I picked him up when he fell or said he couldn't get up.

Physics and action there. He was a good 50 pounds heavier than me and barrel chested. Then he fell and I couldn't get him up. He wasn't very responsive, which had happened before, so I made sure he was comfy on the floor. This went on for a few days. I'd tell him stories at night. I didn't want to get my mom involved.

Every time I did, she treated him roughly. It was a Thursday night. I knew if I didn't get him up, he would die. I just knew it. I got a dolly and tried lifting him up with it, but then he started rattling. I took off his shirt and started CPR. My mom was off work that night and I yelled for her to call 911.

She said, no. Imagine what they do if they saw this. She came down and tried CPR. My gramps died mostly unclothed halfway on a dolly. Mom helped me carry him to his bed so the blood would pool correctly. Then I spent the night doing a thorough cleaning of the basement and I went. washed and shaved his body. The next morning, she said to go somewhere while she called the ambulance for him.

I went to the mall and hid in a changing room till I got the okay to come home. Everyone thinks he died in his sleep. Old age. When he died in such a... He died in a way he didn't deserve because I didn't take care of him right. death through neglect. His last years were spent locked in a basement with only one person who would talk to him.

Few people know I took care of him, let alone the conditions or that I got paid to do so. Mom and I are the only ones who know how he died. He was one of my favorite people, and I'm the one who betrayed him the most. I don't know how I could ever be forgiven for that. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, you were 15.

Your mom is a shit to leave that up to you. And the OP respondent says, she also had health issues. And during this time, she was working three jobs to keep us afloat. Plus, my sister was out making bad life choices, drugs and all. I understand why she did what she did for us. Doesn't make it right, but I can't hold her at fault. In her mind, this was the only way for us to have food in shelter.

In mind, it was a way to help and protect him, though it wasn't an okay life for him. I still have no clue how you can keep someone losing their memories happy minus just being there. It was like a really odd job you couldn't talk about and was always in the back of your mind. It's been about seven years since he died. Just hit some nights. Another user says, that's on your mother.

Not you. Not your fault. And someone replies and says, this is 100% on the mother. She did it because she wanted money and then offloaded the responsibility of someone who needs 24-7 nursing care on a teenager. O.P. has it a lot of ways. It sounds like you tried your best, but it became too overwhelming. And you had no support.

If he was in a nursing home, he would have had multiple nurses looking after him. He was incredibly not well. You were not an adult at the time, and this was your mother's responsibility. Someone else says, why was he locked up in the basement? And the O.P. response and says, mom was worried he would wander out. He used to drive all the time, and when we still did walks,

that all he wanted to do. I tried taking him for a ride once, but he tried jumping out of the car. I went to school all day, and mom didn't like seeing him. She'd get mad at him knocking on the door. It was actually a nice basement, bathroom, bedroom,

and a small kitchen type area, like a mini apartment. Another user says, this is a severely effed up story. If you are not in therapy, I strongly suggest it. Your mother behaved very badly and quite possibly illegally in this situation. I'll tell you not to feel guilty, but words across the web are not going to do anything for you. I am addicted to combat and everything I've done in my life has been in the pursuit of killing more efficiently.

I am a veteran of the Eritian War of Independence and fought in the Eritian People's Liberation Front against Ethiopia. My parents were well-to-do intellectuals for the region, and I received a commendable education given the circumstances. Their involvement with the ELF, the Eritian Liberation Front, an older group predating the EPLF, got them killed when I was 17. From thereon, I fought whenever I could, wherever I could, in official capacities and in retaliative guerrilla actions against the Ethiopian army. During the course of nearly a decade, I killed dozens in what you might understand as typical long-range warfare and several with knives and bayonets, in moments of desperation and moments of outright murder.

Every friend I made during that time died in the same. the conflict. I'm not alive because of my own skill, but because of luck. That being said, I took to the circumstances very naturally. It was only a few months into this that I was no longer fighting for vengeance, but for the sake of fighting. I had never felt so alive as when I was so close to death. In moments of thought, I began to see it as a grand game rather than a brutal war of human rights and a slaughter of innocent civilians. What more I pondered could be more challenging in this life than to face another human, in equal, in a game of the greatest stakes imaginable.

For once, to be truly sure that both you and the other man were operating at the absolute peak of your mental and physical prowess, to face that great engine of intellect and emotions that is the mind and to win. What is war, but the ultimate utilization of man's combined knowledge in every single field imaginable in order to attain that victory? Everything else in comparison felt arbitrary. Water down. I feel I should clarify that it is not a manifestation of sociopathie that led to this mindset. If anything, I had an abundance of empathy. Once I accepted the death of my family members, I found that I could not hate those that I killed. I tried to understand their position, the emotions they must have felt, that inside they were the same as me,

a human mind doing what it thought was best, or what it was ordered to. I briefly felt love, even for my fellow man, a moment of sadness. He didn't ask for this. He must have had ambitions. dreams, loved ones, all just as meaningful as my own. But I pulled the trigger anyway. When Eritrea finally gained its independence and recognition from the UN, I began the process of immigrating to the United States and achieved just that.

I quickly found entry-level industrial work and committed myself fully to it. While pursuing higher-level education, I studied psychology but quickly became more interested in physics, in engineering, in practical pursuits with the time and money I had to invest. But it was not for any aspirations of careers in these fields. I will get to that later. Over these years, I became jaded. No one here had even heard of the conflict I took part in, much less relate. I adopted cover stories for who I really was and rarely socialized. even when I found a few reliable, dear friends, some of them veterans of the U.S. military.

I found sharing and coping to be a waste of time. It took me some time to understand, despite everything I learned with my new education, that I was not in fact traumatized very much at all about what I had done. Nor did I seem to qualify for schizophrenia, sociopathic, etc. I did not want to hurt anyone. you understand and was worried i could have been a threat to those around me i was and am a rather boring neurotypical person in most respects i've stopped and helped people who've needed it

i own and take responsibility of my pets i have no problems with outbursts and i've talked one of my veteran friends out of s word over his own guilt and directed him to professional help I have no interest in harming anyone, not also trying to harm me. And yet, while I sit here now in safety and comfort, in a house earned by my own hard work, in a country where I never need my prior skills again, all I can think of is that it's all been so I can fight again, fight better. I have improved mentally, physically, and spiritually. and although I am now past middle age,

I could win against my younger self a thousand times over. All I want is to fight again, in war, in personal combat, on behalf of my own life and nothing else. No cause, no justification, no excuses, for its own sake. As I said before, combat in war is to me the ultimate utilization of man's efforts.

There has been almost no subject that I have not gleaned some idea on how to improve something, whether it be technique, philosophy, strategy, and although it has secured me a valuable career, that has been the primary pursuit of my education. Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, Kant and Aristotle, I have looked to every wise man to refute my obsession. I've talked with psychiatrists and psychologists who have not fared any better and cannot seem to classify what I am. I feel remorse for those I killed so long ago, but not regret. My support of Nietzsche's eternal recurrence makes the concept irrelevant anyway. I felt most akin to Kierkegaard's Knight of Faith. As an aside, the only thing that,

that comes close to a semblance of understanding of my mindset. I'm not sure why I'm posting this in the end. I do not expect understanding or sympathy. Perhaps to reach out to others of similar mindsets if there are any. Perhaps to entertain a few denizens of the world with the story of a veteran in a conflict they never cared about for understandable reasons. It is a confession, whatever the case. In a few years, I will travel.

to some war-torn country in Africa or the Middle East. I will find a conflict. I will fight in it. And I will die after some period of success or immediate failure. To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands. But the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself. Eventually, one will not provide it, or I will simply be scattered to pieces by a bomb or run over, or die of malaria.

I do not hold romantic notions of the consequences. No matter what happens, I will be happy. For the first time in a very long time, I will be alive again. was unclothed at my friend's party for his kid, high on pills. In my late 20s and early 30s, I started making good money as a financial advisor. And it kind of led me into a bad crowd

where we were drinking, doing booger sugar, and it's when I first got introduced to M. I can't tell you guys what it is, but it's M, and you can see it on screen, but it's a pill or injection. All while this happened, I started becoming more distant from my best friend. I'll call him Ben. Anyways, Ben invites me to his four-year-old daughter's birthday party at his house.

It was kind of an attempt to patch things up between us. The week I had was super long and stressful, and I'd forgotten all about the party until I got a reminder from my phone. I was already with my other friends doing our usual thing when my buddy Chad got this new bottle of solution, you take orally. I never tried it before, and nothing happened. I looked it up and it said it was supposed to work in an hour, but nothing happened.

So I assumed it was a dud. I ubered to Ben's birthday party because I didn't want to drive just in case it would affect me. As soon as I get to his house, it starts to creep up on me. And I'm feeling nice and relaxed. music sounds amazing, all that stuff. I had to go take a shit because it's a common thing that happens to me when I take the pill. When I'm sitting on the toilet, that's when it hit me like I got hit by a bus. My mouth was as dry as a desert.

My whole body is so nice and relaxed times 10. I'm not going to lie, it felt amazing. In my head, I kept saying, this is amazing, this is amazing. over and over and over. I remember slumping over on the toilet and landing face first on the bathroom floor. I don't know how long I was lying there, but Ben's wife knocks on the door and asked if I'm okay.

I tell her I'm fine, but even saying it, I sound like an actual R word. I remember I've been in here for a while now and it looks suspicious a.F. My whole body feels heavy as shit, and I just want to lay down and enjoy my high. I try to stand up, but my legs are shaking like crazy, and it feels like I'm 2,000 pounds. I managed to open the door after what felt like hours fumbling with the lock. I walk into the main room where everyone's at.

I remember the look of absolute horror on everyone's face. Ben's face, his wife's, his parents, everybody. Me being high a. F, I say, what? Ben says, pull your pants up. What are you doing? I look down and my pants are down. One of the little kids notices and just screams at the top of her lungs. Me being absolutely blasted, I say, shut up, you old bitch, to a literal five-year-old. I don't really remember much after that. I just remember Ben taking me home, me begging him to take to McDonald's like a child and whining and crying when he didn't, and him lecturing me about how much I've changed and how much of a degenerate I've become.

I feel absolutely horrible about ruining that girl's birthday party, possibly traumatizing a bunch of kids, and having my best friend have to take care of me on a day he was supposed to remember fondly. I'm going to quit all drugs, try to make more meaningful relationships. I've apologized to Ben, but obviously he doesn't want to talk to me, which I understand.

I just feel like the biggest scumbag ever. I systematically stole money from my elderly neighbor for months. This confession has weighed on me for over a decade. When I was 19, I lived next door to an elderly woman. Mrs. Henderson. She was sweet, forgetful, and lived alone. I'd sometimes help her with groceries or small tasks, and she trusted me implicitly.

She kept a jar of cash on her kitchen counter for emergencies. It usually had a few hundred dollars in it. One day, while helping put her away her groceries, I saw it. A week later, I was. was short on rent. The memory of that jar popped into my head. I made my first move when I knew she was napping. I let myself in with the spare key she'd given me for emergencies, took $40 from the jar and left. My heart was pounding. She never noticed. That was the breach. Over the next four months,

it became a horrible routine. Whenever I needed gas, money or wanted to go out with friends, I'd find an excuse to pop in and steal 20, 30, or $50. I always rationalized it. She doesn't need it. She won't miss it. I'll pay her back someday. I never did. I stole from her at least a dozen times. I estimate it took between $400 to $500 in total. She sometimes mentioned confused. that she must have spent her emergency money faster than she thought. I just nod and changed the subject, feeling like the worst person alive. I moved away for a job soon after.

I heard she passed away a few years later. I never confessed, and I never had made amends. I stole from a kind, trusting, vulnerable person who saw me as a helper. I violated that trust for pure, selfish convenience. There is no excuse. I was a predator to someone who deserved protection. The guilt has never left me. I am profoundly ashamed and sorry for what I did.

I don't deserve forgiveness, but I had to finally admit it. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, I think she may have suspected you, but didn't want to know the truth. And then someone replies and says, yeah, old lady here. She probably knew and kept that jar stocked for you. She might have understood your circumstances and your mindset better than you think. You should feel guilty, though.

Regardless, pay it forward and send some kind thoughts to the generous old lady who helped you out. And when you were too young and stupid to appreciate it. And then someone replies and says, This is a compassionate read without letting OPE off the hook. It's possible she knew and chose kindness anyway, but that doesn't erase the harm.

Paying it forward and actually changing how you move through the world now might be the only real way to carry that guilt into something better. Someone else says, Once is bad enough, but to repeatedly steal from someone whilst exploiting her obvious memory problems

makes this 100 times worse. You may be admitting it now, so I guess I'm credit for that, but you were an adult stealing from a vulnerable elderly lady who trusted you. And not even because you were on the bones of your arse, desperate for cash, this should be on your conscience forever, rightly so.

And it's time to try and try, and set things right with the universe. Donate the money to charity. Repair family in some way. But mostly, make sure you never do anything like this again. Someone else says, the crazy part is that you didn't only take it when you needed it. Like for rent.

You took it for stupid shit too. Another user says, The fuck, this is low man. You know if you asked, she would have helped you. You didn't have to betray her. I hope that you don't do this again. And another user says, No redemption for me.

You are a thief and obviously have a very loose moral code. I wish I could say blame it on your youth, but this was deplorable. You can't come clean to her, but you should pay the money back in the form of double what you stole. To a senior center, oriented nonprofit in her name. You should ensure she has a proper moment. and pay for the cost of its installation too. I think I might be the reason my daughter died.

Hi, Snook, I came across your channel because I wanted to listen to scary stories. Very new to your channel, but I've been having lots of fun. I'm writing this confession to you because I want to get it off my chest. Basically, when I was young, far too young to take care of a baby, I got pregnant. I was still living with my parents who are very religious and I knew they would never let me get a procedure to get rid of the baby. I started looking into where I could get a procedure without them knowing. I also live in a small town and my parents have Life 360 on my phone. So they have access to my location at all times.

I still tried to drive to the nearest city to me, which was about three hours away and get a procedure. But I kept having problems arise, not enough money for gas, flat tire, etc. And eventually, it was too late for me to legally be able to get the procedure. At times, it got so bad I genuinely considered doing a procedure to myself or just flat out committing S word. I've never wanted children. I also had already been kicked out of my parents' house and homeless and forth, so I didn't tell them in fear of being kicked out again.

Because I didn't tell my parents, and I didn't tell my parents, and I didn't. didn't want them to know, I received zero prenatal care. Being pregnant was genuinely horrifying for me. I once threw up so much I thought I was dying because no one knew I was pregnant. I was still doing normal chores and such with all this added weight which hurt my back. At one point, I was unable to walk without excruciating hip pain. So bad, I genuinely thought it couldn't be the pregnancy. I thought I would need a wheelchair or crutches to get around. I was also continuing to work 14-hour shifts, and my back is still so messed up. I can't lay down properly. The worst by far, though, was being able to feel her inside me. It drove me crazy. I couldn't sleep and it made me sick.

I genuinely felt like I had an alien or a parasite in me. I mean, I guess it's common knowledge that pregnant people can feel the baby inside, but actually experiencing it. it is something else entirely. I began to punch at my stomach when it disturbed me, especially when I would be trying to sleep at night. I regret even thinking about it now. When my daughter was born, something was wrong with her brain. I can't even remember what exactly they said because it was all a bunch of medical jargon

and it's all just so hard to think about. She died in the hospital just a few hours after being born, and I got to see her, hold her, and name her. I never wanted her. But now I miss her every day, and I can't stop thinking about her. I still can't even write this without shaking and crying. I think maybe me punching out my stomach might have been the reason this happened. Apparently, whenever a baby dies for any reason, the cops are called to. talk to the parent. He told me that the force of my punches couldn't have been enough to do any

serious harm like this. Even if the force of my punches weren't enough to cause this, if I'd gotten prenatal care, they might have been able to save her. I've been holding it onto this guilt since it happened, and all I want is to be told it's not my fault. But it is. My parents say that I'm choosing to never see her again in heaven because I don't believe in their religion. They say things like, I know I'll be happy seeing her in heaven, but I guess you won't be there. It feels like they're using the death of my daughter and my grief to try and guilt trip me into believing in their religion. My only friend moved entirely across the country, so everything that happened I went through completely alone. Less than a month after this,

I began living on my own again. I had a therapist, but she just sort of decided one day that I was done grieve with my daughter and then told me there was nothing more she could do after that i miss my daughter and i feel so alone i am also autistic so meeting new people seems to be impossible i assaulted someone eight years ago and it still haunts me eight years ago right before i went off to college i essayed someone at a small get-together in an effort to impress everyone there i I stupidly drank much more than I could handle. It was the summer right before I went off to college. I took swigs of heavy liquor to impress the people there.

It was so stupid. I can't even recognize myself when I think back to that memory. I drank so much I blacked out. In the morning after the drinking, I could and still only remember vague recollections of what happened the previous night. I remember drinking heavily. I remember being at a parking lot for some reason. I remember walking down the hallway of the Airbnb that we were staying at,

yelling random obscenities. I remember passing out in the bedroom, puking over and over, while my friends helped me. In the morning, I woke up not knowing at all what happened. I found out first through a friend who texted me asking if I remember what happened last night. He told me I forced a kiss on a girl in the group last night. I was frantic when I found it out.

I asked the friends who helped me last night what happened. I got a mix of stories. One told me I touched the girl last night. Another told me I only kissed her. And yet another told me I was acting crazy and they needed to watch over me. From the info I did get, I clearly assaulted this person.

I remember I couldn't even process the information when I found out. How could I have done something like that? like that. I'd always viewed myself as a good person. How could I have violated someone else like that to such a degree? My first thought was S word. I thought I ought to have committed S word for what I had done. I had violated someone else to the largest extent you could. Why would I deserve to continue on? I remember standing on the porch thinking of how high it was and I could commit S word from that fall,

but I couldn't do it. I was too scared and too cowardly to just commit S word there. I heard from my friends the rumors that spread, that I was a predator, that I was a horrible human being, that I needed to be taught a lesson. I felt these were valid, and I felt I couldn't argue against such comments after what I had done.

Regardless, nothing happened. I was never charged with anything, Nothing was reported to my university. I had lost some friends, but the reality was nothing had actually happened to me. I went on with my life. I had girlfriends, graduated college, and now work in a cushy job that I can't help but feel like I don't deserve. Every month, though, since the incident, it comes up once or twice, and I feel so ashamed and hateful of myself. Nothing like it has ever happened again.

I've been much more watchful of my drinking, and I've gotten a therapy to sort out my lack of understanding with consent and empathy. But I read stories on here of assault and of the stories of victims and these sorts of crimes and I hate myself. I did this to someone. It doesn't matter that I drank. It doesn't matter that I blacked out. I did that.

And I don't think I can ever forgive myself. I'm confessing here to maybe get some sense of repentance. I don't know, but thank you for reading. And I hope you are all having a wonderful day. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, all I hear is me, me, me, especially at the end. You basically celebrate getting away with it. But you know what? She remembers, dude.

She's the victim here, not you. Maybe don't drink if you become a pervy predator. Another user says, you feel pity only for yourself. Pathetic. Another person says, I'm so glad you got away with it and are turning to strangers on the internet to give you a pass. Anyway, she'll remember this for the rest of her life. It will run through her head every time she kisses a man for the first time.

It will run through her head, even when she walks past a man who stares a little too long on the street. The guilt you've experienced from this will never compare to the fear and helplessness she felt in that moment. Another user says, yeah, this should haunt you. Every single waking moment of your life. As a. Anyone is the absolute worst thing you can do to another human, drunk or not, it's your actions. I was a teenage junkie, predator, snitch, and more. I do not condone all these things and I am truly haunted by my actions daily, even though it's been almost 20 years.

Predator I was a pretty effed-up human between 16 and 20. I was a nice guy who had recently regained memories from being violated as a child by my babysitter's granddaughter, while my babysitter spoke in tongues while praying to God in the next room. This occurred around 5 to 9 when my parents had separated. On top of that, I had an overbearing mother who indirectly blamed me for her relationship failing and resented me for crapping my pants. I did it until I was in middle school.

She'd publicly shame me, mock me, belittle me, that kind of stuff. All of that brought me to a point in my young life where I had to decide if I was going to continue being a victim or stop being one. In my mind, there was only two very black and white options in front of me. I was really tired of being the victim. As I was growing up, I had to constantly study people's behavior around me to understand where I fit into situations. I never displayed the appropriate emotions like regret, remorse,

sadness, happiness, and the proper context. So I had to rely on those. around me for context clues. This made me very aware of people's behaviors, habits, motivations, etc. I basically learned to read people in order to navigate my world. I got really good at it. I learned how to debate and make persuasive arguments. I learned how to appeal to people's emotions instead of logic and reason. I learned how manipulate people in doing what I wanted them to do. If I hung out with someone long enough, I knew them as a person would leverage those personality traits for my own purposes. It wasn't always a moral or unethical, more like social engineering.

However, the more I worked with it, the more I could do. Freshman year in high school, I organized a shoplifting ring that stole tons of electronics, CDs, and games during our lunch period. This is how I started down my darker path. Stealing all that stuff got me two things I desperately wanted more than anything. People to stop kicking my ass and teasing me to the point of expert attempts and people to open social doors for me. All of this fed my confidence in ego. I started to become more brave and more bold, which is when I started to embrace the predatory mindset. Fast forward a year.

I switched high schools, get mixed up with. with a druggy crowd, and I land in a small town where R-word, I-word, and abuse are just facts of life. And the I-word there is family love, if you call it that. I just have to censor it. At first, it was an overwhelming shock. I couldn't process this type of behavior because I'd never been exposed to it as much as I had after switching to schools and moving. Everyone and lied. Girls slept with drug dealers for stuff, and he'd screw them over on the weight, despite the fact that he was shit-tastic in bed. One girl begged me not to drop her off at home because her and brother were there. I thought she was going to get in trouble for skipping school. Nope,

they liked to take turns on her. I remember seeing the way her dad looked at her as she was walking through the door. That was the same look I gave his daughter when I was thinking of doing things to her too. This town, this culture, I found myself living in, was pure chaos and I thrived in it. I started to notice a few patterns of behaviors with others who had been essayed as kids. Risky, promiscuous, hoping to find that feeling. That idea of happiness in the next person who came along. The desperation for someone to care or love them. The broken logical responses to positive support and attention. I lived there for about six years total,

and I don't think I ever met anyone in that town whose life was directly impacted by R-word, violence, or abuse. People started to lose value. I'm sitting there with this. How can I get mine predatory mentality in a sea of helpless perpetual victims? I never R-worded anyone.

I stopped when I heard no, stop, or felt some form of rejection. What I did was target individuals because of their past abuse history. It was an easy in to gain the necessary trust to have intimacy. We're both victims of past abuse, makes you feel less alone and a sense of identity with others. I exploited the shit out of that. I exploited any emotional, mental, bullshit, logical angle I could. I would go rat out my friends for cheating on their girlfriends, then try to sleep with their girlfriends and the chicks they cheated on their girlfriends with.

It worked, too. I was fully aware of what I was doing at the time, but the damage I was doing hadn't clicked. I was able to emotionally shut down and keep everyone out. So it just sort of became a numbers game. One girl I slept with. Her dad traded for a six pack of beer when she was five. We wound up sleeping together like 20 minutes after she told me that.

I would talk shit about her and make fun of her to her face at parties and shit. Then sleep with her in secret while doing the same thing as many other women. Then eventually to as many people as I could. I wound up having intimacy with a friend's girlfriend and he, threatened to R-word me on camera for it. So I slept with his mother in retaliation. I still get cold sweats and nauseous when I see someone matching his build and features. He will kill me for sure on site if I ever see him again. I could have easily progressed.

At that time and mental place into a predator. I hated this shit out of women for the longest time because of my mother, and getting violated. I started getting into some freaky things and embarrassing that whole power play shit. I absolutely loved cheating on people and talking shit about them with the person I'm cheating on them with.

It's the sickest, most detest feeling in the world. Part of the attraction is being so vile, so forbidden, so taboo, so absolutely disregarding of anything beautiful loving and kind that I can't possibly feel any worse than I do in that moment. So that one drug dealer who'd sleep with chicks for drugs and sleep with them over the product, one day, after taking some pills the night before and driving around aimlessly for hours, I pulled into the local police station and asked to speak to the detective.

I laid out this whole operation from the Mexican border to our town, had names, places, speeding tickets to corroborate my story? Why did I do this? I told the cops it was because I really didn't want to see my friend get hurt. Reality was, I was just trying to clean house. Guy was a fuckwad and messing up my side hustles and chances of getting laid, so he just had to go. Turned out, that was a bad idea. Had to go to Vegas for a few months and hide from him and his whole family.

Fast forward like six to seven months later, and I moved back but to a larger city nearby and move in with those drugies and their party girl landlord slash booger sugar dealer. I was never comfortable with Michelle. She was a huge drama-causing, dummy of a wannabe. Also, she had a thing for me, and despite multiple rebuffs, never relented. She also happened to be present one night when I got really drunk at her. friend's house and sort of got R-worded. Her friend was transgender and a fine-looking gal. We were flirting, but I was like 17 with 15 to 18 beers in me, and I blacked out in the shower. I remember some of it, but there's huge chunks missing. I thought it was all a dreams, and somehow

me and this other guy who was there drove home 30 miles and made it in one piece. So one day after hardy partying, I wig to find a little bit of a day. I wig to find a little guy who was there, Michelle sitting on my bed, oogling my unclothed body in my bed. The last thing I remember, I was standing in the kitchen, taking a joint after popping some pills. It was like 10 hours later.

I jumped up, grabbed a crescent wrench, and tried to bury it in her skull because I thought she R-worded me. My roommates had to intervene, explained that I was doing weird shit and very out of character, got unclothed, and went to bed. Nothing happened.

About a week later is when I tried to kill her. We are all getting effed up and she wanted me to give her some booger sugar. She had no clue what she was doing and everyone was wasted at this point except for me. And then basically the next part is so explicit. I can't read it verbatim. But basically this Michelle lady wants the O.P. to help her shoot up drugs and he offers to help. And then he realizes how easily he could kill her

because he has the power over the syringe and could easily make it look like an OD. And now let's continue with the next part. The thought just popped into my head about how easily it would be to make this look like anything but a murderer. I was kind of curious of what it would be like to do it to watch what happened and just remain a bystander. I mean, I am the only one who remembers these events, so I would be the only one giving a story or whatever. I would only need to

wipe my fingerprints from the drug needle, and that would be that. So I fiddled with the needle and got an air bubble in there. I put it back in and push that plunger. She, locked out. We were using an insulin syringe, which is an extremely narrow needle. A teeny, tiny piece of the booger sugar got stuck in the needle and the plunger wouldn't budge. I had one of those moments of like casual disappointment, like the batteries died and the remote controlled car I was playing with. The thing that stopped all this was one night with some random chick I was about to start making out with, gave me this defeated, saddened, broken soul, lost hope, teleport me away from this kind of place of look. I knew that look. I've had that look on my face.

I felt like I was hitting the chest with something huge that knocked a hole clean through me. I suddenly was stitching together memories with feelings that I fought so hard not to feel or acknowledge or whatever. I saw myself as a monster. It finally dawned on me. What I was doing is what I had to endure it as well. I was making others feel hollow, empty, worthless, distrusting, broken, all the things I felt. I was contributing to it in others and it wasn't something I could even bear to face myself, let alone the idea that I was actually perpetuating the same shit I was so angry at the world for letting happen to me. Abuse. Someone teenage girl planted a seed, and sorry for this being all over the place, the writing is all over the place,

but bear with me, that she most likely received from someone else. Her mother was constantly hospitalized and her preacher father was really, really loving to his teenage daughter in me. My mother helped cultivate that seed, and I finally bore the fruit of abuse. I now have four wonderful kids. I no longer live with them. I caught myself becoming verbally and emotionally abusive. to them and their mother. I also had to be involuntarily held for 72 hours for a case of psychosis,

where I thought it would be best to commit S-word and my children to spare them the same pain I suffered most of my life with the trauma, the abuse, the mental illness. I am still a drug addict. I have a full-time, dead-end job that helps me afford enough to get my youngest children the therapy they need for their autism. I just sent my eldest daughter to college this past Friday. The worst my children had to endure or were exposed to were times where either depression or anger got the best of me. They heard me scream and rant. They've seen me stay in bed for days. I can't say I managed to stop cycle of abuse, but I damn sure managed to reduce it down to something that can fit in the back of your pocket. I am willing to answer questions later, even aft up once, and I'm

while trying to avoid that situation with Ask Me Anything and the R-wordist guy. I haven't and don't forgive myself for all this shit and more. I struggle with S-word thoughts regularly. I have socially isolated myself to the point that I'm becoming agoraphobic. I can't undo anything I've done and I'm keen aware of how little actions can have long-lasting consequences. I wish I had some peace of mind, if only for my. kids, but you reap what you sow, I guess. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, wow, you should write a book. Good on you for recognizing your actions as harmful

O.P. You were a product of your environment, as so many are. You described it perfectly well, a cycle. And the O.P replies and says, I cannot tell you how hard it was to admit to myself or even just say that I've been abusive. Some folks wouldn't necessarily call it that. But I was redirecting my anger at others who were just collateral damage. It's easy as hell to find worse examples of yourself and reassure yourself that you're not that bad. It's easy to blame others for your lack of self-control and lack of happiness. It's miserable to realize you're a toxic-ass person and the world doesn't hate you. You're just a whining asshole. But the worst part, the part that really effed with me, is seeing articles or posts about other

abusive people. Our society has a very black and white view of people. If you do something, then you lose all credibility and almost become subhuman in people's minds. I'm not saying that I'm not guilty of some effed up shit. I'm not saying I should be celebrated as a survivor of abuse or whatever. I am saying that, despite my confessions, I'm still a human being. I'm not the best human being, nor am I being the best person I could be. But I can't tell you how many times I've been assembling the gear to commit S word because I've read comments or posts because I am, by general consensus, a monster. My kids don't deserve to live with a monster. My ex didn't deserve to date a monster. I'm by no means asking anyone to look at me with sympathy or pity, regardless of my

past, my childhood, my own personal trauma, that doesn't excuse what I did to others. I am still a person, though, a person who has done his fair share of bad and good deeds, a person who's changed his ways, a person who's been working to better himself and his children, despite having no good examples to draw from. Another user says, you deserve to feel awful. You slept with your friend's mother? I'm a cynical, desensitized, and jaded person, and this just blew my mind. How in the fuck? Another user says, wow. Now this is what I call a confession. I killed a girl last week. I was just walking from the university back home when I saw her. Brunette, blue eyes, really pretty face with a really pretty smile. I almost bumped into her when exiting the library. She smiled and

said it was all right. I was very struck by how pretty she was. For the next 10 minutes, I felt awkward because we happened to be both walking in the same direction and at about the same speed. She had her earphones on, so did I, but she was about 10 meters ahead of me, so it's not like we are walking together. I just felt weird that if she looked behind, she might think I was stalking her. We got to one of the major traffic lights bisecting the major road we were walking on. The light was red, but I checked both sides. There was a traffic, but I could cross the road without running, so I just crossed. Jay walked.

I was halfway across the road when even through my in earbuds, I heard the loudest screech, as though a car was screeching to a halt right next to me. I turned just in time to see a picture that will stay with me forever. The girl had crossed the road just behind me. I think she had seen me in her peripheral vision cross and assumed it was a green pedestrian light when it wasn't. I saw her. She was crossing the road,

handphone in her hand, Just beginning to look up and to her right, the truck was barely half a meter in front of her. It feels so weird. They say time slows down and when you watch a movie, movies always slow down these action scenes. But in real life, it doesn't slow down. Things just happen so fast. But somehow you remember every single millisecond of it in such detail? It happened so fast I didn't even have time to react.

No time to even shout. My breath just caught in my chest. I turned, I saw her. Then I heard this sickening crunch. It sounded like if you scattered a thick layer of eggshells on the floor, like it was one centimeter thick, then quickly stepped on it. It was a combination of a crunch and a thud. It makes me want to vomit.

She just flew. She flew a good three to four meters. Hit the ground. Didn't stop. Her body looked weird. Limbs were bent in angles that weren't natural. I felt like I had an out-of-body experience. I was still on the road, I remember, standing just a meter off the pavement.

Couldn't move to step onto the pavement. even to stand there to be safer while watching, just stood on the road, staring. There was very little blood, surprisingly. Maybe that came later, but I didn't stay to see. I was sure she was dead. Her head was at a weird angle. So was her arms and one of her legs was folded in a very unnatural angle.

and she wasn't moving. She wasn't whimpering or crying or even twitching. She just laid there. I felt cold and trembling and out of control at the same time. I felt like I wasn't in control of my body. I stood there for a few seconds. I saw people gasp and some screamed a little bit. Some people ran over.

don't know what they thought they could do. An oldish guy got out of the truck. S-P-A-R delivery van, I remember. I left, I walked away just a few seconds. I felt like a criminal fleeing the scene. I felt sure someone would shout for me to be held back. I just walked. Walked and walked until I got home.

I shut the front door, got into my bedroom, shut and locked the door, sat on the floor against the door, didn't cry, didn't know what to do. I think I sat there for hours, repeating the scene in my mind over and over and over. It's been a week. I saw the reports. She died at the scene. Don't know if on impact or not, but some students held a vigil at the campus next to the road where she died i didn't go no mention of me at all i'm sure they won't arrest me i know it's not a crime to jaywalk well it is but they won't arrest me for it i know she died because she saw me cross and assumed it was green i know it's not my fault

She should not have crossed blindly without at least looking up from her phone. But it feels like my fault. It feels like I murdered her. I'm a murderer and I can't get it out of my head. I am the reason my brother's face and life is ruined. When this happened, my brother was 17 and I was 19. At the time, we were very close and good friends. It all started because I liked a girl.

Yeah, seems harmless enough. This girl had a psycho boyfriend, though. He wasn't happy about me dating his ex, so he decided to shake my dress out of my girlfriend and then showed up outside my house to throw acid in my face. He knocked on the door, and my brother was the one to answer. He then threw acid in his face. face. I got a call for my father who was in tears over the phone telling me that my brother

had been attacked and that I need to come home so he can drive me to the hospital. His burns were some of the worst you can get and I couldn't even recognize him when I got there. Every time I see him, I feel so much guilt. That was meant for me. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wish it happened to me. His face was pretty gruesome after that. He was unrecognizable. The whole situation was incredibly stressful for him in our entire family. I can't even comprehend what he must have been going through. His looks and his whole life destroyed simply because I chose to talk to the wrong girl.

I hate myself so much for this. I wish I just never talked to her. I wish it never happened to him. Once he was out of the hospital, my brother became incredibly to be. depressed. He refused treatment because he knew it wasn't going to be fixed. He started to push away everyone, even me. I just stood by and watched as he destroyed his life around him. I couldn't stop him from pushing everyone away. He became such a bitter and hateful person. He also said, I am the reason this happened to him, and he's right. Not long after, he started to go

even more off the rails. He turned to crime, drugs. He got involved with bad people and revenge was basically on his mind all the time. He wanted to get the man who ruined his life. Understandable, I guess. Although this obsession

is still ongoing to this day, and it has been five years later, my brother is now physically and mentally unrecognizable. He has become a monster and my parents can no longer look at him anymore as they know it too.

We all feel unsafe around him. Even me, as I have heard stories about the things he's gotten away with. He has hurt so many people and done so many horrific things. My brother was once a kind, happy person, but now he's just filled with hate and rage and bloodthirst. Every time I think of him, I just feel ill. I am the reason he became what he is now. I'm so sorry.

Edit. I forgot to mention the guy who attacked my brother only got 20 measly years in prison. And yes, I did break up with the girl. And now let's get into some of the top comments. Someone says, this is one of the saddest confessions I've ever read on here. O.P., I'm so sorry for you. your brother and your family this is one of those times

that you believe shit phrases like sometimes bad stuff happens to good people I can totally understand your guilt but this was really not your fault I encourage you to seek the help of a professional therapist to help you deal with these emotions

and I pray your brother can find some peace in life also very interested to know what happened to his attacker was he arrested and the op here replies and says, Thank you for your kind words. I think my brother needs help more than I do.

Although maybe it's too late for him now. Also, the guy was arrested, they caught him not too long after. He got 20 years in prison and he is still in prison to this day. I personally believe they were too lenient with him as he will probably get out early anyway with good behavior.

Someone else says, you don't believe it now, but this isn't your fault. Yes, it was meant for you. Is this something you could have anticipated? No. Is this something you planned? No. Is this something you wanted?

No. Is this something you participated in? No. Did you have any knowledge of the attacker's intentions prior to the attack? No. Did you have any knowledge of the impending attack? No. Yes, it was meant for you.

No, it isn't your fault. Five years ago, your brother's anger was justified. Five years ago, he continues to choose to be hateful, mean person to this day. He continues to feel sorry for himself. He continues to add fuel to that fire. He continues to aggravate an already effed up in sad situation. He continues to screw people over because he's mad. Yes, it was meant for you.

No, it isn't your fault. Forgive yourself. Help your brother get a better grip on his anger slash rage. Forgive yourself. And then someone replies and says, I agree that it's not the OPE's fault. However, I don't feel his brother's anger is justified. The fucker that messes up your life, melts your face away,

you are probably going to have a burning rage, unlike anything else anyone will ever. feel. But yeah, OP should forgive himself. Another user says, An acid attack is among the most despicable thing a human can do to another human. Robbing someone of a normal appearance in their self-esteem is incredibly cruel. Please don't blame yourself for this. You're a victim of freak circumstance. I'm incredibly sorry for your situation and i wish you and your brother better days stay strong and all right guys that wraps up some insane confession threads um these were some wild wild confession threads some depressing

some disturbing and uh yeah some truly just uh horrifying and like the title says insane so hopefully you found the video interesting and would you like to see more videos like this in the future If so, please comment down below and let me know. I read every single comment, so please leave your thoughts down below. I appreciate it so much. And yeah, you guys are the best. Thank you so much for watching at the end of the video. And make sure you like the video and subscribe to the channel.

The channel's subscriber goal is one million subscribers. So please subscribe. And all right, if you enjoyed this video, go check out some other videos on the channel. I appreciate it. And once again, thank you so much for watching. And this was Snook and I'll see you next time. I.