Snook - Terrifying Anonymous Confessions

Episode Date: January 10, 2026

Once again thank you to everyone who submitted there confessions... this series of videos is much more serious than usual, so let me know what you thought about it in the comments... if you enjoyed please like and subscribe, thank you. And also let me know if you would like to see more videos like this in the future. Also, what did you think about my opinions and takes? Valid or no... thanks for watching! Rate the show 5 stars and follow the show!If you would like to submit a confession, please send to this email... [e-mail] and like for more, thank you for watching, and stay safe... Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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for confessions for the video. So I have a ton for this video. So, yeah, I'll keep making these videos as long as you guys keep sending in confessions and I'll keep giving my reaction to them and advice. I really appreciate everyone to send them in. I'll try my best to include as many as possible. And if you'd like to see your confession in a future video, please email to this email right here on screen. And my voice sounds a little bit weird this video because I'm sick. I'm recovering from a sickness. So that's why my voice may sound a little bit raspy or deeper than usual. But anyways, please like the video and subscribe to the channel. Helps that a ton in the channel's goals. 500,000 subscribers, so please subscribe. And all right, without further ado, let's get into

some terrifying anonymous confessions. Thank you, Snook, for the space. For real, your community, this corner of the internet, offers something rare, a place where people can just confess with minimal judgment without fixing, just listening. Writing this out is a small, part of my healing. I found that sometimes sharing something that's eating you up helps, focusing on what we can control helps, and reminding ourselves to honor the effort it takes just to keep going, that helps too. So here it goes. I work as a school psychologist slash school counselor, and during my very first week on the job, I was asked to attend a meeting about a student. Let's call him Jude. He had been on our caseload previously and remained there when I joined, so I had to meet with his father,

Mark to follow up on recommendations from the summer. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for what I was about to learn. Mark is in his late 70s or early 80s. He has two adult children from my previous marriage in France, but he abandoned them and their mothers years ago. Cutting off all contact without explanation. He then moved to another country and entered a transactional relationship with a sex worker, paying her regularly for sexual favors.

She became pregnant, reportedly without a woman. his knowledge and gave birth to twins. Jude is one of those twins. The other didn't survive infancy. According to what was shared, Mark shook the baby in frustration when he wouldn't stop crying and the child died. Rather than face justice, Mark fled the conjure with Jude and settled in the one where I now work. Jude was in second grade when I met him, and yes, he knows about his twin, not because anyone lovingly explained it a tragic story, but because Mark uses it as a threat. He tells Jude things like, you don't want to end up like your brother when he misbehaves. Imagine living with that. Jude isn't allowed to go anywhere except school. No extracurriculars,

no sleepovers. He has no contact with his biological mother. And I don't know he even knows she's alive. He doesn't know he has older half siblings either. His whole world is just his father and whichever much younger girlfriend Mark is living with at the time. One of those girlfriends, in her 20s, hit Jude in the mouth after two weeks because he didn't want to call her mom. She broke his tooth over that. We did what we could. We documented. We reported.

We followed every single protocol we are supposed to. But then, in November, two months after I joined, Mark withdrew Jude from school. Just like that. No forwarding address. No transfer request. No responses to calls, emails, or any form of contact. He vanished again, just like he did with his first family. And I can't help but wonder if that first meeting set something off,

if my presence, my questions made him feel the school was watching, that Jude was in danger of being taken away, that we knew too much. And so he ran. I know it's not really my fault. I know I did what I was trying to do. But I still feel guilty. I still wonder where Jude is, if he's okay, if he's, even alive. That was my first year on the job, my first week even. I've had many meetings since,

but none like Jude's. And I don't think I'll ever forget him. And first off, thank you so much for sharing this story. I really appreciate you sharing it to the email and to the channel for me to read. I'll try my best to give you some, you know, words of, you know, acknowledgement or make you feel better. But I really don't think you, um, you should feel guilty at all. I mean, in all reality, Jude was just, you know, had a very rough upbringing, very bad start in his life. But you gave him a place to talk. I mean, you could be the first person in his entire life that even acknowledged that he was a person, that he had feelings. I mean, his father obviously didn't want him.

His mother, he never even met. And so you might have been one of the very first people in his life that really acknowledged him, which is an amazing thing for you to do. I think you did everything in your power you could have possibly done. It's unfortunate that his father took him away from you, but I mean, you can't really control that what he does. I really hope that Jude is out there doing all right, that he's still alive, that he's still well,

and hopefully got out of that situation. But I really don't think he should feel guilty because I think you did your job and you did it right. You made Jude feel heard, you talk to him, him and you made him, like I said, feel acknowledged, which may be the first in his life. Very sad, but true. And so I don't think you should feel guilty. And just thank you so much for sharing this and on to the next one. Hello, Snook. I've been an on and off watcher of your channel for months now. Your videos are something I always have playing in the background, whether I'm doing schoolwork or

just gaming. What I appreciate most is how you genuinely seem to care about the people and the stories you tell. I could go on about why your content stands out to me, but that's not why I'm writing in. Right now, I'm in the process of getting screened and hopefully diagnosed and treated for schizophrenia. My entire life, I've seen, heard, and physically felt things that weren't real. I wanted to share a few of those experiences, not just to get them off my chest, but in hopes that someone else out there might feel a little less alone. One of the very first stories that comes to mind happened when I was around 14. By then, I'd already experienced multiple hallucinations, shadow figures, voices when no one was home, eyes watching me from the windows. I genuinely believed

I was psychic and could see spirits. One night, I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep when I felt something in the room with me. It felt malicious. That's the thing about these hallucinations. Sometimes they just feel eerie or unsettling, but this one felt actively hostile. I could sense it staring at me from the corner of the room. Then it started crawling across my bed, this massive king-sized bed, and came to a stop right in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw it clearly. It was a tall, heunoid figure, completely black and white like it was pulled from an old TV show. It wore a black suit and had stark white skin.

It must have been ten feet tall. bent at a perfect right angle to meet my gaze, and its smile. I still remember it. Its cheeks curved into its eyes completely unnatural, completely terrifying. I wondered if it was sleep paralysis, but I could move. Eventually I grabbed my phone and shine the light on it, and just like that, it was gone. I've never seen that figure again, even four years later. I've had some other visual hallucinations, but the delusions are sometimes worse.

For a while, I was convinced someone was living in my hair. attic, even when my parents assured me there wasn't. I couldn't shake the fear. I'd lock my door at night, sprint past the attic entrance to my room, and sleep with the lights on every night. And then there were the audible hallucinations. One of the scariest happened during my senior year. I was taking an app in my sociology class after finishing a test. When I woke up, I heard a loud, deep voice coming from the school intercom. It was inhuman, muffled, and way too loud. But no one else reacted. That's when I realized it had to be hallucination. Still, it rattled me. I have more stories, but those are a few that have stuck with me. And to anyone out there going through something

similar, you are not alone, and you are not crazy. These experiences are overwhelming, and there is help. For me, talking about them helps so much. Schizophrenia is misunderstood and often unfairly stigmatized, but living with it doesn't make you a bad person. It just means you need support. So if you're struggling, please reach out. You're real, you're here, and you matter. And thank you so much for sharing these. And I think your final words on your, you know, story or email really are impactful. You're real, you're here, and you matter. I mean, that could apply to every single one of these confessions. I mean, just don't feel bad. Talk to somebody. That helps a lot. And if you have any sort of, you know, something happened mentally.

I still think even mental health is so under-talked about, so stigmatized still. So if you're suffering with anything mentally, just talk to someone, reach out to a therapist, psychiatrist, someone to help you out because mental health is so, so serious and so important. So if any of you watching are suffering with anyone, you're not alone, and it's not bad to need help. You guys are the best, and just stay healthy. And if you fear you might be coming down with something, whether be schizophrenia, depression, or just need to talk to somebody, just reach out to somebody. And yeah, never handle it alone.

That's definitely the worst possible choice. So just talk to somebody. And thank you so much for the kind words in the beginning of your story. I really appreciate that. I really appreciate you. Enjoying the videos. It means so much. And on to the next one.

Hey, Snook. I'm a huge fan of all your videos. And I hope everything is going well for you. This story is directly from my dad who was involved in the global war on terror. Also, English isn't my first language, so sorry for any grammar errors. My dad was in Iraq from 2003 until 2006 and took part in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He never really spoke about his experiences since he lost a lot of close friends during and after his tour. But a few days ago, I asked him about it after he watched the film Warfare Together.

This is what he said. Me. So, what was your experience like over there? That film was heavy. Dad, it hit hard. Yeah, but what would be your most standout experience from it? What stuck with you? Well, the thing that stuck with me was the smell. The smell of burning hair, gun smoke, and blood. Some days, I still take five showers just to try and get the smell off, but it never leaves. One day, me and my group were clearing houses in some tiny little dirt-ha village. looking for enemy weapon caches or a secret outposts or whatever the objective was that day, but we didn't find anything.

Just rocks and a bunch of farmers barely surviving in the desert. I remember seeing a kid in a red soccer shirt waving at me as we were walking through the village. I waved back. Eventually, we finished up the mission and got back inside the wire at the end of the day. But not even 24 hours later, we had to return to the same village, only to find that it had been glassed, completely looked. leveled. There was a huge crater in the center of the village where a house used to be. Dead donkeys, limbs, and other vesera were spread all over the ground, still smoldering from the blast.

And there it was. A red, half-burned, blood-soaked soccer shirt stuck to the side of a wooden cart, with a gaping hole in the front of it. The corpse of a kid it belonged to was about 30 feet away. Barely there. No arms. And the top of his head was gone. Apparently, the enemy had bombed the village thinking we were setting up an FOB there or maybe moving supplies through it. Since we had brought large vehicles through, they must have assumed something. They bombed it, even though we had left hours earlier. Maybe it was our fault. Maybe if we hadn't gone there to begin with, they'd still be alive.

That kid would be plain. Maybe it's our fault. This was the one and the only story my dad has ever told me. The only reference I ever had to his military experience was his medals and a few photos of him with his buddies in Iraq, but after what he said, I understood why I never really spoke about it. I don't know if he was special forces or something. Maybe that's why he kept it all to himself, but still. Thank you for reading. If this ends up in a video, you can just call me Robert. And if it doesn't, I hope you still enjoyed the story and appreciated the read. Thank you. And Robert, thank you so much for sharing this story. And if you can, please thank your dad for his service.

I'd really appreciate that. And yeah, this is a heavy story. I mean, I watched that movie as well, Warfare. It's a heavy movie for sure. If you haven't watched it, I'd recommend watching it. It's a war movie. I mean, it's really, you know, depressing, dark, but it's, well, it's a good movie. It really shows just the horrors of war and how it shouldn't be idolized at all. I don't know. like nowadays with video games, movies, and all that stuff, war seems more idolized than it really should be. And that movie really sets and shows how war is hell. And I really appreciate your dad's story and his sacrifices. And I think he, you know, it would be hard to live with yourself after war, but I hope he can find some sort of, you know, solace or relief from his guilt because he doesn't

deserve to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. Yeah. And the kid with the red shirt, that's just so tragic. And I don't think he should call it his fault. Yeah. Thank you so much for sharing this story. I didn't really have a lot to add, but this one just kind of hit. This one, this one was pretty heavy, but thank you.

And on to the next one. Hey, Snook, so I've got a couple of confessions to share, and I'm sending this from a burner email because while I trust this to say anonymous, I really can't risk anyone, including you figuring out it's me. My real name isn't Anna. That's just the email. But you can call me Anna for the sake of the video. I'm 25 female. A few years back, I lived with two girls. Let's call them Kylie and Layla. I got along pretty well with Kylie, but Layla, not so much. We all moved in together because the housing market in London was an absolute nightmare. This was the first time I'd ever lived with housemates. I'd always lived alone before, so it was a learning curve to say the

least. Back then, I was not in a good place mentally, undiagnosed anxiety, chronic depression, you name it. And while I'm not going to blame everything I did on my mental health, it's important context. At the time, I was overweight, never exercised, literally had never worked out of my life, ate trash food constantly and spent most of my time post work alone in my room, either high or drunk. I wasn't doing that kind of drinking that gets flagged right away, like not a bottle of vodka a night, but more like three drinks every other night than five to six on the weekends. Same with weed, not every day, not completely out of control, and not letting it affect work, but enough that it was a problem in disguise.

Now, back to Layla. She really got under my skin. She was the definition of a clean freak, and I was not. I wasn't dirty, just messy and disorganized. She'd nag on me about cleaning something I already cleaned because there was a speck of ground coffee left behind. Or get mad if I put a spoon in the wrong drawer. Or if I used one of her pans, even though I let her use my stuff all the time. We had a group chat for flat stuff, and I used to feel pure dread every time I saw a notification from her.

I just knew it'd be her complaining about something, usually something I'd done. Her presence made my mental health spiral even more, and one day I snapped. I decided to do something about it. Now here's the part I've never said out loud before. I've had some dark thoughts since I was 15. One time I had the urge to hold a knife to a classmate's neck when I was 16 or 17, never acted on it. But the thoughts were there.

One day when Layla was in her room, I walked over to the fridge, took one of her containers of leftovers, and sprayed bleach into it. The bleach blended into the sauce and I didn't think twice. No Googling to see what would happen. no planning, I just did it. She got sick afterward, really bad cold. Was it from the bleach? Maybe.

I've never looked into what bleach actually does to the body. I don't want to know. Because now that I'm in a better place mentally, I realize how dangerous that could have been. Fatal, even. But it didn't stop there. Every time she pissed me off, I'd do it again. And it made me feel good.

Like I was finally letting go of all the resentment I was holding in. I didn't see it as a problem. I felt justified. That mindset punished anyone who disturbs your peace stuck with me. Eventually, I did the same to Kylie, even though I liked her. She just happened to get on my nerves one day, and that was enough. Fast forward to recent times, i.e. two years later, I actually started to have a physical symptom that I couldn't explain.

I couldn't stay asleep. In other words, I could fall asleep, but I'd wake up. Fall asleep and wake up again. Billion times per night. I saw a doctor and eventually one referred me to a therapist who referred me to a psychiatrist. I'm now on SSRIs. Mental health really affects your body. It's wild. Just to clarify, it wasn't guilt, but more so the presence of anxiety and depression in the body for years that would result in this. These days, I'm doing way better. I'm into strength training and I actually love it.

To an extent that I hate recovery days because I don't get to train. I hit my step targets, It's cooked nearly every meal, no takeout, and just overall take care of myself. I'm sure the SSRIs are doing a lot of the work, but lifestyle change has played a big role too. When someone annoys me now, I still get mad, but I let it go within minutes. I don't let the rage build like it used to. But the story doesn't stop there. There was a recent moment where someone really got under my skin. Instead of acting on it, I wrote out what I wanted to do to him.

I want you to know the script is not something. that can be read on YouTube, but I'm happy to share it if you're interested. I think if you really tried, you could read bits of it on here, but you may get demonetized. To clarify, I didn't act on it. I never would, but if torture was legal, who knows, then I would. This bit is not a brag, but I live a great life. Money has never been a problem. I've also got a really good job, a supportive family, despite the usual ups and downs, and a few really close, solid friends. From the outside, no one would ever think I've struggled with anything. I, too, never felt like I did. But that's what makes chronic depression so sneaky. It's not loud. You don't even realize it's there because it becomes

your baseline. It's not about crying every day or not being able to get out of bed. I never get depressive episodes. It's just this dull, heavy, cloudy live with for years thinking it's normal. If sadness is your default, do you even know you're sad? I realized my brain just wasn't making enough serotonin. I was stuck in fighter flight constantly. Anyway, here's where I'm at now. A, I don't feel guilty about what I did to Layla. She's alive, so all as well. I know this sounds awful, but that's how I see it. If she wasn't, and I didn't get caught, I honestly don't know if I'd feel any different. B, I know you'll probably say I need therapy, and yes, I already go. It helps a little, and I've tried multiple therapists. It's not really for me. But I stick with it anyway. Partsly,

because you kind of have to if you're on SSRIs. I like your videos a lot. We'd love to hear your thoughts or your viewers. No specific reason. Just curious. Thanks for reading an anonymous viewer. Thank you so much for sharing your confession. And even though most of the confessions I get shared,

I try to take it as positively as possible, I really think you should feel bad about putting bleach in your roommates, whatever you put it in their... drink or whatever. That's a horrible thing to do and very dangerous. I understand a few years ago you weren't doing so great mensly, which I'm glad you're feeling a lot better now. I'm very happy about that and I'm not trying to harp on you and make you feel bad, but you know, you even said if she did die, you wouldn't feel bad. Yeah, you might need to talk to somebody. Um, nothing against you,

like I said. Uh, I just think you, I don't know, just continue what you're doing. I think, the physical health and eating healthy is very good. I'm glad you're doing that. That definitely helps your mental. But maybe you have some sort of, I mean, I don't know what the person did to you, but to feed them bleach and then not feel bad at all, and you even said you wouldn't feel bad if they died,

you might have some unsorted, you know, anger issues or something like that. I mean, you even said like now you don't stay mad for more than a few days, but, you know, I just think you should learn to forgive and maybe feel bad for putting bleach. That's just not a good thing to do at all. It's really dangerous. They probably don't deserve it or didn't deserve it.

I mean, that could have killed them or caused serious lifelong damage. I don't really know what else to add. I'm interested to see what you guys watching. Thoughts are. Comment down below, which you guys think. but not trying to make fun of you, not trying to be too mean. I hope you're doing better now. And I'm glad you're doing better now.

Keep going on the upswing. You've got this. Let's the next one. Hey, Snook, thank you for your videos. Your voice and calm narration helps me drift into sleep on some restless nights when my head just won't shut up. I hope you're doing well. My confession isn't much of a confession,

but more of a paranoid thought that keeps crawling into my head, I think. I'm sorry in advance if my story seems scrambled, because that's how my head works. Feel free to edit it to make it more cohesive. In 2018, my mother died due to sepsis and inevitable organ shutdown, which developed after a tooth broke out of her mouth. She was always very afraid of dentists and avoided going to doctors, which is why it got that bad in the first place. I always felt a little guilty because I had a troubled childhood growing up,

with her being an addict to alcohol and drugs. I never felt I could get back to the mother-son relationship that we had in my earlier childhood. But I wasn't blaming just myself for not being there for her and maybe intervening when she wouldn't help herself. Now that I'm in therapy, my therapist taught me that you can't help someone who doesn't want to help themselves, even if it costs the person their life. You can be there for them for when they do want the help, but you can't force your help onto them.

You see, I have five more siblings, three of them. which came from my mom and two for my dad. Me being the youngest of them, all at the proud 30 years of age now. My oldest brother also had the same addictions like all of my siblings do. The apples did not fall far from the tree. My siblings used to joke that I wasn't the black sheep in the family, but rather the only white sheep. I've kept in keep as far away from drugs and alcohol as I possibly can. But my oldest brother, when he drank hard liquor, also became very aggressive, blacked out, and wouldn't remember his deeds the next day. No apologies ever.

I visited my mom shortly before she died, and she had told me. She had gotten in an argument with my oldest brother, and she has cut off contact with him. At this point, her tooth had already broken off. Now, earlier in my childhood, I'd witnessed my brothers get physical, yes, even with our own mother.

I hadn't asked her if he had done this to her because, frankly, I was absorbed with my own problems at the time, and I had never suspected that breaking off a tooth would lead to her death. The only thing she had told me then was that she ran against the door. She died at only 54 years old. I have always since suspected that my brother had gotten physical with her and that this had ultimately led to her death. I don't have any proof and it could just be me being paranoid,

but given our abusive family history, the recent fight she had with my brother that led to no contact for the first time in their lives, all in such close proximity to each other, just always made my mind race. I would also never confirm my brother about this, and sadly at this point, even if I wanted to, I would no longer be able to. My brother has died three weeks ago,

barely reaching the age of 43. He died in his home of the toilet in the early morning hours, just a little more than a year after our grandma had passed away. I won't even get closure on this topic, and I'll forever have that nagging thought that he may have been physically responsible for inflicting the injuries that led to our mother's death. I still love both of them, even if there were hard times. It's okay to cut off your

family for your own mental health, but don't do it rashly or on an impulse, because later on you may regret not having tried to smooth things over or work things out. Hey, I found your channel just yesterday, the 22nd of April, and I've been thinking about your confessions video ever since. I just want to say. While the stories you read are always interesting, you, Snook, are the real star, you're kind, authentic and caring, even towards strangers, and even when no one's asking you to be. Sure, you're a YouTuber, but you're creating a community, helping people feel a little less awful about themselves or their lives. That's rare, and I think it's really special. This is a long one. I don't know if it'll make it into a video, but I enjoyed writing it either

way. If it does, I hope it doesn't bore you to death. And if it doesn't well, I still found some relief in expressing things I've never shared with anyone before. Thank you for being kind. You make a lot of people feel less alone, and I know that gets said to you a lot, but that's because it's true. Here's my confession. When I was 10, a girl from down south, Florence, transferred to my school. I didn't like her, and as I later found out, the feeling was mutual for reasons I still don't understand. I was an unpopular kid.

If you'd asked me who my friends were, I could have pointed to a head. handful of girls, maybe one boy. But at playtime, I was usually alone, walking the perimeter of the yard, watching my feet, playing with dead grass, and a remote patch of field. Sometimes I had glanced longingly at the friendship bench, the place you'd sit if you wanted someone to notice you, and strike up a conversation. I never sat on it. The friendships I had felt shallow. I rarely felt truly wanted, so I kept it myself. My dad was my only real friend, and honestly, that was enough. Florence, though, she had long brown hair, a high school musical lunch buck, and Lally Kelly's, the cutest shoes, oh yeah. She immediately won over the popular girls, the boys, and as if that wasn't enough, all my friends, too.

She'd sit on the corner steps with the cool kids at playtime, laughing, talking about crushes, singing, I went to a Chinese chip shop, but ending with OMG instead of one, two, three, how dare she? She sang all the time, like she was Sharpay Evans, and when she caught me looking her way, her smile would vanish and she'd shoot me daggers. We had never even spoken, but we hated each other. I hated her because I was jealous. Maybe she sensed that. One day, we argued a little outside the classroom, which only added fuel to my fire. Now, you might be thinking I killed her and hit the body in one of the school bins.

Sorry to disappoint, I didn't. But fate, in the form of a classroom seating chart, put Florence in me side by side. For the rest of the school year, five days a week, five hours a day, I'm sure she rolled her eyes when she found out. She walked over and that was that. She often sang, chatted with the others at her table, and over time we became civil. We had no choice. One day, a group of us ended up in a secluded part of the yard, plain truth or dare. The secrets were things like, which boy would you snog or who would you kill if you had to? Harmless stuff. Eventually, the group thinned out until it was just me and Florence. Trading secrets are

under the banner of the game. I barely remember any of it, except for one lie I told her that changed everything. I told her I was adopted. It was a throwaway lie, said in less than a second, just to keep the game going, to make myself more interesting. To my surprise, she responded with immediate empathy, and I liked it. I liked being the center of attention. That tiny, dumb lie ended up being the thing that made us best friends for years. I'm a straight girl, even during the brief I'm bisexual-sash lesbian phase in high school, I mostly thought about boys, but my feelings towards Florence were confusing. I was obsessed with her, not in a sexual way, but in an all-consuming, infatuated way. I wrote her love letters and poems, drew pictures of us together, and walked a mile alone just

a visitor. I wanted to be around her all the time. I was jealous of her dad and brother. I wanted to be her number one. I followed her to high school when she transferred, begged my parents to let me switched to, she never knew I felt that way, but at the time I couldn't imagine life without her. And the lie haunted me. I was always on edge. What if she noticed how much I looked like my parents? What if someone told her the truth? What if she asked to see my birth certificate? I tried to hide it. I wouldn't leave her alone with my mom, made excuses, doubled down on the lie, and for what? Something so boring, and yet she later told me that the moment I mentioned being adopted, she knew we'd be best friends. We had the kind of relationship you only see in movies. My made plans to move to L.A.

and live together in a condo. But just months after her transferred to her school, she moved back down south, and I cried all the way home. We Skype sometimes. She came back later, but it wasn't the same. It ended. The line didn't. I became a bit of a pathological liar. I stole stuff. random bits from classmates, trays, erasers, the odd pound coin, stole from friends, my stepmom, my brother. I got caught trying to steal an okay magazine once. I felt shame. If caught, I'd cry, but I kept doing it. Worse, I found the internet. I was showing myself to creepy strangers on Omega, doing those awful points challenges that escalated into horrifying territory.

And I told my friend on a coach to the swimming baths that, I was dating a 30-year-old man named Ian. That was 10. I wasn't. But she told my teacher, who told my mom, and I'd never been so embarrassed. And thank you so much for sharing your confession. Lying is something that's addicting, I think.

And it's something people don't talk about. But lying can become addicting as, you know, you experience. It can become rewarding, you know, will respond like it can make yourself seem better make yourself seem cooler although you know it just adds stress to your life because you worried about your friend finding out you weren't adopted for all those years imagine if you just told the truth you would have never had to deal that stress same with the stealing same with all the other things it just it's better off um you tell

the truth it's just it'll make yourself it'll make yourself feel so much better mentally in the long run you won't have to worry about it forever. And I just think that it's something you can work on. Just tell yourself. I mean, just you don't need to be like, I'm done with the line forever. Just set one day for yourself. The day that you're living right now,

we're watching this video, just be like, I'm not going to lie today. And then bring it on tomorrow. And then the next day, just take it day by day. I'm not going to lie today. I'm not going to steal it today. I'm not going to do X, Y, Z today. Just take it by the day.

Don't say I'm not going to steal for the rest of my life. I'm not. not going to lie for the rest of my life. That's too big of a challenge. So just take it day by day and you can do it. I believe in you and thank you so much for sharing the story. On to the next one. Hey, Snook, I've recently gotten into your videos and they've quickly become one of my favorite things to watch. You're doing something really important by sharing the stories you do. Thank you for that. I'm not sure if this counts as a confession, but it's something I've carried with me for nearly two years now. It still eats at me. Two years ago, my grandmother,

younger sibling, and I were planning to go to an air show. The plan was to pick up my uncle and his grandson, let's call him Jack, on the way. Some background. Jack isn't biologically related to us. He's the son of my uncle's late daughter's ex-fiancee. When they split her, parents retained custody of Jack, and he calls my uncle Grandpa. When my aunt passed away, she had been in permission from breast cancer, but a brain tumor returned and she didn't tell anyone about it. My uncle was left as Jack's sole guardian. My uncle has bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. After my aunt's death, he began using drugs, which made his mental health worse.

Jack wasn't in a good environment. He was often neglected, left to sit alone with a phone or Xbox for hours because my uncle couldn't handle him. Jack started acting out to get attention, especially around my uncle. The day of the air show, my uncle called and said he wasn't feeling well, and would it be coming. My grandmother asked if we could still take Jack, and my uncle agreed. When we arrived, Jack came outside, but my uncle followed him out and suddenly changed his mind. He grabbed Jack's by the arm, lifted him off the ground, and screamed in his face before slamming him to the ground.

My grandmother got out of the car and tried to calm him down, but my uncle turned his rage on her. She told Jack to get in the car, and he ran to the back seat, sitting right next to me, completely silent and dazed. We decided to take him home with us. My sibling had my mom on the phone during all of this, and she was ready for us when we arrived. Jack clung to my side the entire drive. At home, things escalated. My mom tried to talk to my uncle down over the phone, but he was enraged. She told us to take Jack to the bathroom connected to my grandmother's room, our safest option. Jack ran straight forward. My sibling followed, and I blocked the bedroom door from the inside. My uncle stormed inside the house, yelling Jack's name.

My mom stood between him and the hallway, holding a wooden board, but couldn't use it without risking arrest. My uncle busted the bedroom door and then forced his way into the bathroom. I did what I could. I shoved him, jumped on his back, screamed. I fought as hard as I could to keep him from getting to Jack. He knocked me down and broke the bathroom door. When he saw Jack hiding, he collapsed.

He started sobbing, apologizing. Jack hesitated, but hugged him. My uncle picked him up, carried him to the hallway, then told him to leave. I tried to hold my uncle back. I grabbed this shirt and ripped it. I still have that piece of fabric. Jack ran back to us. The police showed up soon after, but legally,

the only charge we could press was trespassing. In doing so, risked my grandmother being accused of kidnapping, so we didn't press charges. That night I broke down. I cried so much I had to stay at my best friend's place for a few days. The broken doors were placed with metal plates. We couldn't afford new ones. About a month later,

came to my 18th birthday party. He helped build a bonfire I wanted. My mom said that was his way of apologizing. I've never forgiven him for what happened. But for Jack's sake, I pretend I've let go. Lately, my uncle has gotten a job and seems to be doing better. He's not on hard drugs anymore, at least not that we know of. A lot of the people we used to hang out with have faced legal consequences, and I think he finally realized he needs to change. But I still don't think he's a safeguarding for Jack. And I still see it all. Every time I visit, I see Jack getting slammed to the ground. I see the door breaking. I see myself unable to protect him the way I wanted to. Here's the part that really haunts me. That night, when I was blocking the door, I looked for something to defend us.

I found a broken wooden statue and almost hit my uncle over the head with it. I was ready to hurt him, maybe even kill him. I was only 17, but I didn't care. The only thing that stopped me was the statue got knocked out of my hands. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't. Would it have been self-defense? Would I have been charged as an adult? Would I have killed them? It scares me, knowing that if I had to do it again, I wouldn't hesitate.

I've learned more about self-defense since then, not because of that day, but that moment made it clear how far I'd go to protect someone I love. Thank you for giving people like me a place to share things like this. I'm still trying to get into therapy to work through everything, but until then, just getting it out helps. And thank you so much for being comfortable enough to share it with the channel and everyone watching, and I'm glad it helps just, you know, getting it out. Hopefully, me reading this, reading some people's reactions will help you feel better about

this as well. Hopefully you can get into therapy soon. And like I've said in previous or the previous Confessions video, just talk to somebody about this. I'm glad you shared it to me. And yeah, that's such a scary situation. I have no idea how I would even react to that. And many people, I don't know, that's just a really, really hard situation to be in. And you stood strong, which is very admirable. But I think I would recommend just getting to therapy or getting somebody to talk to, whether it be a loved one or actual therapist. And I think that would just be a great thing to do, to be honest.

just to talk it through, work it all out, work through the whole experience. And don't feel bad about anything. I mean, it happened. And I don't think you can change the past. So don't spend too long reminiscing. But like I said, talk to somebody. It helps. And I hope you're doing good now.

And I hope you're doing better. Thank you so much for sharing. And on to the next one. Hi, Snook. I'm a big fan of your channel. I really appreciate that every put into your content. I love listening while I study and before bed. Thank you.

This is my confession. While I was working at a coffee company, I won't name, I purposely burned a man with a hot coffee. Just as a disclaimer, no, it was never a lawsuit or on the news. I was new to the job and had no barista experience yet, so I was working the drive-thru. A man comes through the drive-thru with his wife, and I immediately recognized him. He was a frequent patron of the gym I used to work at,

and was insanely creepy. He would purposely stay in the gym until it was just him and I in the building and just stare at me. I always worked alone at the gym. I was at the front desk attendant and it was a one-person job. I was only 15 when I worked there and was very scared of this buff older man. Anyways, this man used to lock eyes with me and moaned while he worked out. Not grunts, not breathe heavy, purposeful, borderline, corn, graphic moaning while he stared at me with his bug eyes. He was disgusting and made me glad to leave the job.

He's a big reason for me quitting the job. As someone had defecated into the gym's laundry basket for the cleaning rags, and I'm certain it was him. I had heard that he had a health issue like a stroke or seizure at the gym and thought he had died. But no, alas, he was alive and in my drive-thru. So it's four years later, and I'm no longer a scared 15-year-old girl. I act normal and hand him the card reader through the drive-thru window.

instead of taking it from my hand, he grabs me hard on the wrist and starts stroking one hand up my arm while the other used the card reader. His wife was in the car, just smiling amused. I was disgusted. This creepy older couple was looking at me like they wanted to eat me. I immediately pulled my arm in and just stared back. He had ordered a large black coffee and when I went into hand it to him, he reached from my arm again, so I squeezed the cup and dropped it directly into his lap. freshly brewed. A hundred and seventy-degree hot coffee. As someone who spilled a lot of coffee on herself at this job

and has been burned multiple times, the pain is no joke. The scariest part was that he enjoyed it. Instead of exclaiming in pain or gasping or acting like any normal person would after being burned with scalding hot liquid, this guy laughs. A deep, sadistic laugh. Like he enjoyed it. A lustful laugh. His wife was just lightly yagling with his insane look on her face,

like a mixture of lust, amusement, and evil. I can only describe the sound as what I imagine Satan sounds like, and I don't say that lightly. It was an extremely disturbing experience, and while I don't condone harming others and haven't done so purposefully since this incident, as hurting someone in that way goes against my beliefs entirely, I've never even felt a shred of guilt about it.

I don't tell people that I have purposely hurt someone, especially in such a sensitive area. I'm not a person who has enjoyed hurting anyone besides, this one occasion. I told my manager it was an accident, that he had scared me by grabbing me. I never got into trouble, and the next time he came in, my manager banned him from the store after hearing my experience with the man at my previous job. Thank you for reading my confession, Snook. Again, I love your content and all the work you put into your videos. Thank you for reading if you got this far, and I hope this makes it into one of your videos. Hello, Mr. Snook. First off, I wanted to say how

much I appreciate the idea behind this series and the genuine empathy you show towards the people who share their stories. It's refreshing to see someone truly value what others have gone through. I hope there's some value in mine as well. I'm a 47-year-old man, about a turn 48 in a month. Like most people, I've carried a fair share of regrets and guilt. Some well-deserved, some a little rational, but when I think about my past, one particular incident stands out. While it may not be my biggest regret, it's certainly something that's haunted me, especially since the friend I hurt passed away recently, although we reconciled before his death. I never formally apologize for what I'm about to share. Back in high school, around 1993, I was a lazy student. I put minimal effort into my

grades, just doing enough to get by. I remember one test in particular, a multiple-choice exam. That was about to be taken into class before mine. My friend, Lee, was in that. He was in that, class and I knew he was very studious. I assumed it would be fine to ask him to jot down the answer for me. At the time, I figured since he was one of my best friends, it would be no big deal. I would have done the same for him if the roles were reversed. Lee was hesitant. He didn't want to help, and I didn't understand why. I thought, we're close. This is what friends do. But I didn't fully grasp that Lee had a different home life, a different mindset, and was raised with different values. was a dumb, selfish 16-year-old and didn't think beyond my own perspective. When the day came and Lee

hadn't written down the answer for me, I took it as a personal betrayal. I felt hurt and angry. At the time, I was dealing with my own insecurities and could be quite cruel. Lee was a shorter, overweight, Filipino guy, and there was a nasty nickname circulating among the other students, grimace, after the McDonald's mascot. I, too, had been bullied as a kid, but instead of empathizing with Lee, I use it as an excuse to lash out. To get back at him for what I saw as a betrayal, I used my talent as an artist to create a weekly satirical comic strip. I called it Grimmis, the dark side. It was a twisted, darkly humorous comic depicting Grumis as a S predator who abused helpless fry guys, defenseless little boxes of French fries. I never explicitly

said it was about Lee, but everyone knew. I made photocopies and passed them around at school, watching with twisted satisfaction as my sick revenge spread. Over the years, Lee and I did reconcile. We had our differences, but we also shared some good times. As we got older, though, we drifted apart, eventually losing touch for more than a decade. Then, a couple years ago, I was told that Lee had passed away. We hadn't spoken in a long time, but hearing that news hit me hard. We had made peace, but the one thing I never apologized for was that damn comic strip.

I don't know how much it affected him. I never directly confronted him about it, and I certainly never apologized. When we reconciled, it seemed too late to bring it up, and I didn't want to embarrass him or make him relive bad memories. But now, years later, I can't shake the feeling that I owe him that apology. Lee, if somehow you're out there,

I just want you to know I'm truly sorry for what I did. He didn't deserve any of it. I deep lurk up my actions, and I hope you found peace. Thank you, Mr. Snook, for allowing me the chance to share this. It's been weighing on me for far too long. Thank you so much for sharing this story, man. Thank you for this, and I'm sure it felt good to get it off your chest, you know.

And in all honesty, I think you should forgive yourself. I mean, you and Lee, you know, got back together, reconciled, became somewhat friends again from what it seems like. And even though you never apologized for it, I'm sure he took you being nice to him after the fact as kind of an indirect apology. In my mind, you know, maybe you never directly said it because, yeah, sure, it probably would have been awkward. But, you know, it was just a small little thing in high school. Come on.

High school is such a small, like, that's not that big of a deal. I really think you should forgive yourself. And especially now that he's past, you know, just you can't do anything about it. I think it's best if you forgive yourself, and sure, maybe it would have, or maybe it did put a big mental strain on them. But I think you guys kind of made up, and that makes up for it, even though you never directly apologize for it. So I think you should really forgive yourself for that small thing.

And thank you so much for sharing, and I hope you can forgive yourself. On to the next one. Hi, Snook. I recently discovered a channel, and I've been binging the videos, and I absolutely love them. Anyway, I won't waste any time, so here's my confession. Last year, around November, I borrowed my parents' car since I only had my motorcycle at that time. I was going down a narrow street and a car came from the opposite direction towards me. I thought two cars would fit in the narrow street, but it didn't. I scraped the side of a parked Tesla and left a bump in the side of my parents'

car. I was totally panicked and drove away. Later asking my parents, did you know there's a bump in the side of the car, pretending I didn't know anything about it. Obviously very angry about the damage. They didn't want to get it fixed by insurance, but since they didn't have any proof that they didn't cause the damage, the insurance wouldn't cover it, costing them over a thousand euros in repairs. I am obviously going to come clean about this in the future and pay them back that money. I have a good relationship with my parents and knowing my parents they will probably be able to laugh about the entire thing. I obviously feel pretty guilty about it, but like I said, I'm going to come clean to them in the future and pay them back and hopefully

laugh at the entire story. Kind of regards. And I think that's a good idea. I think you should definitely come clean to your parents as soon as you can. And something else I think you should try to repair is the car you hit on the side of the road that was parked because they didn't, I'm sure they just came out and were like, oh shit, my car got ran into. and they probably can't get their who hopefully they got insurance to fix it but even if they didn't i'd try i mean i'm sure it'd be impossible to find them and uh you get in a lot of trouble but you know try to reconcile with that yeah um i just think it's best to you know come clean to everybody um that's probably the best thing to do but it sounds like you're going to do that so that's

great i'm glad to hear that and i hope yeah you guys laugh about it and your parents can forgive you and you pay them back, which is great. Good work, and I hope you do that soon. On to the next one. Hi, Snook, thank you for offering an avenue for people to share their stories and get things off their chest that they couldn't otherwise. I'd appreciate hearing any thoughts you have about my confession. This situation still bothers me almost daily. Names have been changed to remain anonymous. Several years ago, when I was in college, I made a friend named Taylor. He was a soft-spoken person, and we bonded over our enjoyment of various video games and YouTube channels. About a week after we started talking, Taylor shared something incredibly personal with me.

About a year before he met, he experienced something terribly traumatic. A burglarly went wrong at his apartment, and he saw a man get stabbed in the middle of the night right by where he lived. He ran over and called 911, holding the man and trying to help him stop the bleeding. It wasn't enough, and the stranger died in Taylor's arms. Taylor was clearly immensely traumatized by this incident. He shared a lot of details and broke down into tears. I'm not good at comforting others, but I did my best to encourage him and let him know what happened was in his fault. The conversation ended abruptly.

Over the next few days, Taylor continues to bring up this incident. He talked about feeling the blood on his hands about the stranger's ragged breathing, the size and shape of the wound. He said this experience made him want to take his own life. I began to try to push Taylor to reach out to a therapist, asking him, him to seek out professional help, but he would tell me therapist didn't understand what he truly was. Whenever I asked what that meant, he told me to forget it. Taylor would go from a normal conversation into immense details in the blink of an eye. If I didn't respond to text or calls, he would start saying I wasn't listening, or didn't care about him. He would apologize profusely, then

continue talking about the experience over and over and over, saying it should have been him who was hurt, how he wished his life could just stop. I tried to be a shoulder for him to cry on. I thought we were friends. During this time I was friends with him, I was R-worded by a coworker. I was completely distrauded and tried to share this with Taylor. I got a simple, huh, that sucks.

And about five minutes after he started talking about his situation again, pages and pages of text about his feelings and his trauma and his pain, I broke. I sent a nasty message saying he was a user, just wanted to dump his own issues on people without actually being a caring friend. I called him manipulative and rude. I told him I was blocking him and not to reach out to me again. I really should have approached it better.

I know I should. But I didn't, and honestly I'm terrified of what may have happened and what kind of impact the words I said may have had on him. I can't bring myself to look at his social media because if he did something to himself, I'm not sure if I could forgive myself. Thank you for reading this far, Snook. I know what it's like to take on someone's pain

and you're doing that but times a thousand. I hope you remember to take care of yourself and step back if you need a break. Thank you for all you do, Anonymous. Thank you so much for those kind words at the end and at the beginning. I really appreciate that so much. And same with everyone else who's sent me any sort of email. The kind words you give me are ridiculously nice. I really, really appreciate it and it means so, so much.

But anyways, I don't think, I would have handled that any differently. I really don't blame you for acting the way you did. I don't think you should feel bad about it. But I would recommend, or I wouldn't, why not look at his social media? You know, something could have happened and then maybe you could possibly help him again if he is in a bad place, but I don't blame you for the way you acted. I would have acted the exact same way.

That's very upsetting that he couldn't be a shoulder for you to cry on when you needed it. and you were there for him at all times of the day, through text, through a conversation. You were there for him, and he seemed like a very, you know, spontaneous individual because he said he'd go from normal conversation to breaking down crying. That's really hard to be there for somebody if they're like that all the time. And that's great that you were there for him for so long,

but that's hard to keep up with. And I think he needs professional help or needed it. because yeah just someone who isn't you know a professional i don't think could handle that and i assume you're not a professional therapist or whatever and so yeah that guy just needs a professional therapy i think to be able to get over that incident because he lived through a terrible incident you lived through a terrible incident but you guys didn't help each other or you helped him but he didn't help you so it was kind of a one side of relationship with you being the solid side and him just constantly wanting stuff from you

so don't blame me for the way you did. Maybe it was a little bit, you know, rude or whatever you could call it, but I would have acted the exact same way. I mean, it's the heat of the moment. Of course, you're going to block him. He's been an asshole to you when you've been so nice. So I don't blame you. I would maybe recommend reaching out if you guys are on talking terms again.

Maybe you're like, hey man, I'm sorry for acting that way. How are you doing? You know, something like that. Just kind of rekindle it. Maybe not as strong as it once was, but just on talking terms. So I don't know. Maybe you can make sure he's just doing all right, but thank you so much for this confession and this story. I hope you're doing all right.

And yeah, just thank you so much. And all right, guys, that wraps up some terrifying anonymous confessions. I really enjoyed this episode or this video. And I think this could be a really solid series for the channel. I really enjoy just reading your stories. And, I mean, it's so impactful hearing what you guys have to say. And I really appreciate all the kind words. and all you guys saying it makes a difference with these videos.

So I'm going to keep making them as long as I keep getting those comments. Like it really means a lot knowing that these videos help people out there. And it will just help you be not alone. And if you're in a similar situation, hopefully it can be relatable and make you feel better about yourself and just better about your situation and just makes you feel like you're not alone. So I think I're going to continue this series. Please comment down below if you'd like to see that.

Please like the video helps out a ton and subscribe. It helps spread to more people and subscribe so you never miss another episode like this. Comment down below if you'd like to see more. But yeah, this has been such an impactful series. It might be one of my favorite series I've ever started. It just means so much hearing directly from you guys. And I really love it. Thank you so much for watching.

I appreciate you all. And this is Snook. And I'll see you next time. Bye.