Snook - The Disturbing Reddit Post Iceberg

Episode Date: October 27, 2025

Beneath the surface of Reddit’s familiar memes and wholesome threads lies something far darker, a hidden world of posts, mysteries, and confessions that most people were never meant to see. In today's video, we’ll travel down the Disturbing Reddit Post Iceberg, layer by layer, from strange experiences shared to posts that are truly disturbing and depressing. Some were deleted, others banned, and a few… remain unsolved to this day. Viewer discretion is advised. Many of these stories involve unsettling or distressing themes. If you enjoy deep dives into internet mysteries, disturbing cases, and the darker side of the internet, make sure to like the video, subscribe, and consider joining our Patreon! ⁠https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠ Stay curious, and stay safe... Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Reddit has become one of the internet's largest and most influential discussion boards, a modern-day cultural phenomenon, a place where millions share stories, secrets, and experiences every single day. From heartwarming moments to pure chaos, it's a reflection of everything the internet is, and everything it tries to hide. On Reddit, the disturbing all hides in plain sight. stories, confessions, the unfiltered minds of millions. Most people scroll right past it without a second thought. But sometimes, if you stop, if you look closer, you start to see how deep it really goes. This is the disturbing Reddit post iceberg, an iceberg I put together myself.

And if you've never seen an iceberg before, here's a quick rundown. The top levels start with things most people know about and aren't as disturbing. But the deeper we go down, the darker and more disturbing the posts become. Make sure to like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know. Let's get into it. Tier 1. House on fire. Disputes between neighbors are common. Property boundaries, noise complaints, shared fences, pets, parking spaces, or different lifestyles. All of these things together can create the perfect storm for conflict. And sometimes, the conflict can escalate. When I used to live in my upstairs apartment, I like to listen to music,

and it wasn't rare to get a broom or two banging under my floor, a wordless request to quiet down. And you know what I'd do? I'd be a respectful neighbor and quiet down. That's called conflict resolution. But many people don't have the capacity to resolve conflicts peacefully, especially when the request is unreasonable or out of your control. What might begin as a simple misunderstanding can quickly turn into rage, anger, and sometimes violence. A post from six years ago does a great job of showcasing what can happen when neighborhood conflict turns ugly. The user, another guilty witness, writes, Karen threatens to get me arrested for gardening my garden.

The title says it all. Because the groundhog had no shadow, spring came early, so I had decided to weed the garden strip that borders mine and Karen's property. There's a fence between the garden and her house. While doing so, I get rid of some of my day lilies that are on my property. I finish, return to my house, and continue my day. Until I hear a shriek from the side of my house. I rush over because I'm scared someone got hurt.

And Karen, who just got home from work, asked me why I got rid of her lilies. I say that they were my lilies and that I was making space for tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots. She then calls the police because I had destroyed her property. The police come and basically tell her to go inside and shut up, because it's pretty clear whose flowers they were. Simple enough, property lines got confused. And now Karen thinks that her precious day lily, have been stolen from her.

But overall, it doesn't seem like a big deal. The post is nothing to write home about. Just a normal interaction with an entitled, confused neighbor. In fact, I'd call it pedestrian. It does suck that Karen doesn't have her lilies anymore, but genuinely, who cares? Well, Karen cares. A lot more than anyone realized, apparently.

And what she does next is nothing short of terrifying. O.P. then creates a new post to tell us what happened later that night, after their first confrontation. This is an update to a previous post of mine, but I feel like this is big enough to warrant its own post. In my previous post, I explained that a woman flipped out over the fact that I had taken day lilies out of my garden in preparation for some vegetables and such I was going to plant. In the comments, some had suggested that I put a camera facing the garden in case Karen just, that the tomatoes look like they're on her side of the property line. My aunt, who's not entitled, was switching from Arlo to ring home security, so she sent me those. They arrived the morning of the fire, so no video. That aside, I did not expect Karen to do this. Yesterday, Karen got mega drunk,

like multiple cases of beer drunk. I don't know what she was drinking, but she had obviously had a lot. And this put her anger over the edge about the loss of my lilies. She went, with wood and fire starter, to my neighbor's house, the one on the opposite side of her house than mine, and lit their bins on fire. This spread to their porch, and their entire home was alight. I'm a light sleeper, and living in a cul-de-sac, was woken up by the orange haze floating through my windows. I called 911, the whole shebang, witness report to end everything. And as I went out with the 911 operator on the phone, this shipbag gives a confession. After a while, and as the fire department shows up, she realizes her mistakes.

One, she lit a house on fire, and two, she lit the wrong house on fire. She's being charged with arson and the like, and everyone got out. There's a mother, father, and two kids who are high schoolers. It still feels surreal. A comiter then asks if she had intended to light his house on fire. And O.P. replies, yes, she meant to set mine on fire. Her eyes went giant when she realized her mistake. Took a good five minutes after she told me the story of how she lit my house on fire. What started as a petty disagreement over flowers spiraled into a near tragedy.

But thankfully, no one was injured, but an innocent family is now homeless because of Karen's reckless stupidity. It goes to show. You never really know who might be living next door and what they're truly capable of. Slugs. When I was a kid, I remember sitting in my living room and flipping through the channels at night. When I came across a show that I had no business watching, that show was the original Fear Factor hosted by Joe Rogan. It was a game show where contestants would compete for a cash prize, and the premise was very simple. Contestants, before coming on, would submit their fears to the show, which they would then have to confront during the course of the game. And if they successfully overcame all their fears, oftentimes by completing disgusting,

often terrifying challenges, they'd go on to win the prize. And some of the most disgusting and disturbing challenges were ones involving food. Ice cream covered in snot and vomits, blended up rats, cow eyeball juice, but that's just a game show. What if it happened in real life? How would you react? Unfortunately for user, Rainbow underscore Drizzle, things were about to get nasty. She writes, I found out my partner has been putting slugs in my food. I don't know how to forgive him.

I, 22 female, have been with my partner 24 male for four years now. I have never known him to do anything like this, but I noticed. he started acting a little strange around a month, maybe a month and a half ago. He started putting fruit on the floor in the garden, and I thought it was a bit weird, but he said he was feeding the mice family that have nested in our shed, so I thought it was sweet and helped him do so. Anyways, he started being really nice to me around two weeks ago, and was making me food, baking me cakes and stuff, which he never usually cooks, so I was so happy he found a hobby. I did notice, sometimes, I felt sick and dizzy after eating, and I just put it down to lack of sleep

or hormones. Anyways, a friend of my partners came into my work today. I work in a cafe and said he needed to speak to me when I was free. I was free as there wasn't any customers at the time. He told me that my partner has been collecting slugs from the garden on fruits he has been putting out there and putting them in my food, blending them up. He even sent this friend of his pictures of a bag of slugs he had collected in the picture of blended slugs. I feel really sick to my stomach. I don't understand why he would do this. This is so out of character of him.

I asked him why he was doing it and he accused me of snooping through his messages, which I would never do and got so angry at me for not being able to take a joke. I feel disgusting. I love him to pieces, but I just don't understand his way of thinking just now. Am I overreacting? I don't know what to do. I feel lost. Update.

I went to urgent care last night slash early hours of morning and waited and was finally to see around 6 a.m.ish. I had some tests and I have a high level of metallohide in my blood. I was kept in for monitoring, and I have some ulcers in my stomach. I was aware of this anyways as I was hospitalized about two months ago for a burst ulcer. I originally thought it was stressed, but they now say it could because of the poisoning. I could have an infection of some kind, as my temperature is high, but they haven't found anything that could be causing that yet.

They have checked my heart, and it's fine. I'm due to have heart surgery this year, though, and they're delaying it due to ulcers and infections, and the fact I keep that. getting sick, which is okay. I have an appointment to see my cardiologist on the 20th of April. I contacted the police and wrote a statement and was asked some questions. Anyone who knows me in real life, please don't post mine or my partner's name as the police said it would destroy the investigation. Not the exact words they use, but I am unsure I was in a daze. My ex refused to say anything to the police or to me. However, he did say he would speak

to his friend and only him. He then spoke to me. I was not alone. I was with a friend and his friend too. He confessed to doing random experience on me slash tests starting a few months after we moved in together. It started with spitting on my toast.

And then the week later, he replaced my medicine, beta blockers, with salt, emptied capsules. I want to add, he was my medication holder as I have a history of S-word attempts, so he handled my meds and gave them to me, and that's when he thought it would be funny. He also admitted to these things, swapping my Linda McCartney vegetarian sausages with real meat. I have IBS and struggle to digest

meat so became a vegetarian. He also replaced my corn nuggets with his real ones. One of my pet giant African land snails went missing in the summer, and I assumed it escaped since I left the lid open on their box, but he said it had died, so we scraped it out and put it in my curry. I vaguely remember the day he did this as he laughed whenever I went to eat the curry, and I got really paranoid, so I put it in the kitchen and stormed off. He then brought it upstairs and told me to taste it, and I did, and I realized he added loads of chili, and he said he was laughing because he put

chili powder in it, and too much came out. Now I think he must have put the chili in to cover the fact he put my snail in there. He also said he rubbed my toothbrush on the toilet, but then washed it as he thought that was too far. I feel like this is all a dream. It just seems too dramatic to feel real. I am unsure what is happening on the legal front. He says he doesn't know why he did this and that he loves me truly and that he felt compelled to do it, which I understand as I suffer from OCD and get compulsions slash impulsions and that he really loves taking care of me, and he feels it's his purpose, and he didn't mean to cause serious harm. He promises he never did any of this to our animals. I think he could just be

stressed as I have mental health issues that could have caused something in him to break from too much stress. I am really sad and sorry for those who I caused concern. What happened to O.P. is terrifying. But sadly, it isn't uncommon for people to abuse. use their partners in sick, twisted ways. And we actually have a similar story on the next century. Domestic Violence. 10 months ago, an account called Throwaway 53-665 posed just such a question to read it. It's titled, How did physical abuse start for you?

My partner, male 36, shoved me, female 29 for the first time today. He started to get verbally aggressive during an argument. When he starts yelling at me and mocking me, I try to get some space for a few hours. I generally have never walked out during arguments with previous partners. However, when he starts getting disrespectful and the conversation is not productive, I feel so overwhelmed that I don't know what else to do, but try to get away. I try to tell him that I need some time to myself. He usually yells things like,

you're just going to do the running away thing again. Is this really all this means to you? Like other times before, he followed me and ran in between me and the doorway, attempting to block my exit. There's been many other times of him physically preventing me from leaving like this, also standing behind my car, for example. But then, for the first time, he shoved me away. Hard.

I was appalled. He later apologized and said it was because I stepped on his foot and it was an accident. He says he would never hurt me, but I'm not sure if I should believe him. It seems plausible that I could have stepped on his foot without realizing it. I did have winter boots on and he had bare feet, so I do feel bad since that must have really hurt. Even then, however, I wonder if that warrants such a strong reaction like shoving someone to the points of almost knocking them over. It's been easier to dismiss many of the emotional abuse signs. I question if I'm somehow part of contributing to this dynamic.

I think about how he is so wonderful most of the time. There is always some sort of plausible reason for his reactions slash emotional outbursts that has kept me hanging on. I told myself I would definitely leave if it ever escalated to physical abuse, but now I'm even questioning myself about that. Commenters were quick to provide their own stories, harsh, dirty realities for many suffering from domestic violence. A comment by NTA Black Wolf shows what could happen

if the original poster weren't to take action. It started with calling me names, ranting and raving for hours, then pushing me and breaking some of my things, then choking me, only once. This time I got away and called the police and he ran away. After pushing and leaving bruises one day,

he got up and hit me. He headbutted me and made my nose bleed. Literally found your post searching for warning signs about abuse turning to murder. I never thought any of these. things would happen. Now the emotional and verbal abuse has become normalized. I've started having reactive abuse, yelling and throwing things. He has destroyed my clothes and threw something on my head causing it to bleed. I keep thinking it'll get better on a wait list for therapy. Just know this

behavior isn't normal to all men. There are 44 comments on the original post. Some of them offer their own experiences. Others outline what signs to look out for. checklist for abusive partners and resources for how to escape. A terrible reality for many people all over the world. The post serves as a reminder that this kind of violence happens every day and that if your partner is shoving, hitting, or throwing things at you, or poisoning you with slugs, they are abusing you. Simple as that.

Noises at night. Everyone gets scared when things go bump in the night. creaking doors, constricting pipes, wind banging against the side of your home. All of these things can give you a good scare. But nothing compares to this next Redditor's story. User Red Wants Blue 80 writes, I use an app called Sleep as Android to improve my sleep. One of the features is that it records your nighttime noises.

Snoring, sleep talk, cover ruffles, coughing, etc. I've been using the app since October 1st of 2013. I've never caught anything other than sounds created by me changing positions or coughing or something like that. Although I've been told several times, I talk in my sleep by other people. On December 30th, at 204 a.m., I caught something very weird. To set up, this night I was sleeping in my bed. My three-year-old was with me that night as he is scared of the dark. It was just the two of us in the whole house.

The next night, I decided to go through and delete my recordings and saw this particular recording. In it, you can hear some clicks that start to get louder over the course of the recording. Eventually, you can hear me say, what are you doing? And immediately after, there is a deep voice that says, nothing. The clicks become very loud at that point, and at the very end of the recording you hear the same voice say, that's them, I think.

I am pretty creeped out by this. I don't remember being awake that night. The only plausible explanation is that I answered my own sleep talking, but the voice doesn't even sound like me or something I could emulate. It definitely doesn't sound like a voice my preschooler could emulate either. I have no idea what the clicks could be. I keep a fan going at night for white noise. but the clicks sound like they're coming from right near my phone,

which is placed right by me on my bedside table. I want to say that I've picked up the clicks a few times on recordings before, but deleted them thinking it was nothing. This is the first time I've ever heard anything, though. And for everyone skeptical about this story, here is the original audio recording that accompanied the post. Genuinely, I thought this post at first was an exaggeration, but after hearing the voice on that,

recording, well, I'm just glad she's safe from whatever that was. Tier 2. The Machete Man. Therapists are some of the most crucial service workers that exist today. The prevalence of mental health issues, psychological disorders, trauma, and the pressures of everyday life have made therapy not just helpful. It's crucial. But some patients clearly need more help than others. Those especially damaged or demented patients who wrestle with dark thoughts or complete delusion can be very dangerous if left untreated. But there are dangers that come with treating them too. Our next user, Rays R. Bays responds to an Ask Reddit thread with their own story of treating

a very difficult patient. Therapist in Training and My Tudor, who is a childhood abuse and trauma specialist, tells some horror stories. The one that stood out for this question was a guy in his mid-40s, who had lived most of his life with extreme paranoia, that his parents were sending people to get information from him to blackmail him with. This guy was extremely unstable and was legally obligated to go to therapy after committing some petty theft because he believed his parents were tracking his money.

Anyway, he'd been going for about six weeks, and he began to talk about a plan for the future. He was kind of vague, but said he had worked out a way to break free from his childhood and move forward. My tutor was apprehensive, but hopeful. He had been making good progress in the previous sessions. Fast forward a week and this guy's back again. He's noticeably agitated and carrying a large sports bag. My tutor remarks that she's pleased to see him and likes his new bag.

He breaks down. He confesses that he has a machete in the bag, and had planned to kill everyone from his old life, starting with his therapist. So he could be free from his past, but she was very nice and would be hard to kill. My tutor politely excused herself and called the police. The guy was very compliant. He had pretty much given up at that point, but the police confirmed he did indeed have a large machete in his bag, and his car was full of bin bags.

She said that was the only time she felt she was close to dying, and says the moral of the story is to treat all your clients well because you never know who's plotting your murder. My father tried to kill me. As children, we rely on our parents to take care of us. That's their role. They are our protectors. They keep a roof over our heads. Food in our bellies and lead us into adulthood with a gentle, firm direction.

But sometimes, parents end up more like the villains of our story than our heroes. User 99 Musis writes, I think my father tried to kill me when I was younger. My father and I have never gotten along. Maybe when I was a baby, but I know I was a disappointment. Being born a female and he comes from a very hierarchical, conservative, patriarchal family. He was literally the precious son that my grandparents had four daughters until they had him. It's been an accepted fact with my immediate family that my father dislikes me with no

apparent or obvious reason. As I grow older, I think that maybe it's because he felt he did everything he was supposed to do in his life, but it's not enough for him. Or it wasn't right for him to be happy. And as a result, I was his punching bag, often literally. I grew up in an Asian household where physical discipline was normal. It was rarely severe or the kind that left marks, but it was normal and I'm fine with it. But I've always had this memory that, until very recently, I thought it was just a crazy dream I had until I talked to my sister, and she remembers it, meaning it really did happen. In my dream slash memory, my father was very angry.

He's very short-tempered and rarely in a good mood, and is prone to shouting and physical disciplining. But this time, I don't even remember what I had done, but I remember he was very angry. I wasn't a rebellious teenager at all, very soft-spoken and quiet and obedient. Although maybe not studious enough for my father, despite getting good grades, I'm not sure. But this day, I remember because he was shouting and he pushed my head down and wrapped his hands around my throat and started to choke me. I remember barely even struggling, but everything eventually going dark. Apparently my sister had walked in and started screaming at him when she saw what was happening and he finally let go.

But then I had fainted. I always thought this was just a dream. I thought the worst he had ever done was bashed my head repeatedly against the glass dinner table when he thought I was stupid for using a CD player to figure out what songs were on a CD my friend had given me. I'm shockingly technologically inept for my generation. And the more I think about it, maybe it wasn't the intention, but I feel like he tried to kill me. I get very jealous when I see fathers who care for their daughters, who cherish them and has so much love for them in their eyes. My mother is wonderful.

I'm not even sure if she knows this happened. Recently, I was seeing someone, and I finally opened up to him after he pressed me a lot to tell him what happened with my father. I haven't been resistant to talking about the coldness of my father and my relationship, but I've always stayed vague with the details and the extent. But the guy I was seen didn't really say anything after I told him and fell asleep soon after.

It made me feel like I was blowing things out of proportion. and now things are over with him and my secret is gone with him and I have no one to confide in about it. I know I should be grateful. My father was there in my life and he contributed to the privilege that I've grown up with, but when I introduced my ex-boyfriend to my family, he was so excited and happy and led him away and spent time with him like he's never even tried to with me, not even when I was a little girl, desperate for his love, so much that I tried to be a boy.

I tried to learn about cars and baseball and all the things he loved. I tried to dress like a boy and pushed myself to enjoy more boyish activities. But it was never enough for him. And it makes me feel like I'm not enough. Spontaneous age. Curiosity is a funny thing. It's one of the core characteristics of our humanity. It's what encourages us to open doors we were told to leave closed, build cities, or explore the stars.

But as the old adage goes, curiosity killed the cat. 16 years ago, a username Spontaneous H made a now infamous post to R-slash I AmA titled, I did H yesterday. I'm not a drug user and have never done anything besides pot back when I was a teen. Ask me anything. This is a little long. I have never been a drug user. I drink once in a while and smoke pot years ago back when I was a teen in high school a few times and that's it. I'm 24 now.

Have a master's and a well-paying full-time job. Yesterday I was walking through Washington Square Park where I pass every day, and there are always people there looking to sell drugs. They usually don't solicit drugs unless you stop to stand around near one of them for some reason, or look like you're looking for something. Yesterday, I happened to stop by a row of benches to check some mess. messages on my phone, when a dealer on the bench to my right asked me if I need anything. My life has been pretty boring the last few years, and I feel like I haven't really lived,

taking any risks, or done anything crazy, so I figured, what the hell? Maybe I'll buy some pot. It's been a while. I said yeah, and after asking me several times if I'm a cop, he gives me his number and tells me to meet him at a fast food place several blocks away, and he will hook me up. I say, right and nervously checked to make sure I have cash and go meet this shady looking dude. We sit down and, after hounding me asking me if I'm a cop, he asked what I need. I tell him I just want a dime bag and he says something like, no, sorry man, I only sell half ounces.

You can take that and I've got some coke and age. At this point, I didn't want to buy half an ounce of pot. I probably never smoked more than an eighth in my life, but then I started considering his last word. H. I've heard so much about it and how crazy addictive it is and seen it in the movies and TV. I'm thinking The Wire here, one of my favorite shows, and it really started to intrigue me. I've always wondered what it would be like to do H. Out of nowhere, I say I'll take the H and we do the deal there. I give him the cash under the table, and he slides me a small order of fries with a little stamped wax baggy in it,

then he tells me to let him leave first. I put it in my pocket, then nervously race home. My heart racing. I cannot believe what I just did. I held onto that bag in my pocket, palm sweating the whole ride home. When I get home, I open the bag and dump some golden flakes and powder on my glass coffee table. At this point, I don't even know what to do.

I know you can snort age, but it looked all flaky, so I try to remember how they did it in the movies, but they always seem to inject it in film, so I start Googling. how to snort H, like an idiot, and do a little research on the stuff and how much it take. And then he gets into the nitty-gritty on what he did to ingest it. But if you'd like to see the full reading, you have to go to the Patreon, $5 a month, you get uncensored videos, early access videos, and extra content. So please consider that, and I will just resume the story when it's YouTube appropriate. I waited, and in a few minutes I had the most pleasurable feeling of pure relaxation and bliss

wash over me. I just sat there. and everything felt amazing. I nodded off and it was great. I had the TV on but wasn't paying attention. I must have sat around for four hours doing nothing but I felt total pleasure. And then he gets into some more, once again, nitty gritty description, so that'll be on the Patreon and I'll just resume where it's YouTube appropriate again.

I was blown away by the power of this stuff and just how incredible it felt. I never understood why people did drugs before and got so hooked on them, but now I see why. I have the urge to do it again, but I will resist and not do it, at least not for a long time. I understand the addiction potential and how someone could easily tear apart their lives with this stuff.

H is pure, powdered pleasure. I actually feel proud of myself for having the balls to do something this crazy, and I feel like it was a valuable life experience in my window into another world and part of society. I will never forget the day I did H. Now, ask me anything. Many, many of the commenters came forward with their own stories,

urging the poster not to try H again, explaining how incredibly addictive and destructive it is. In response, the OP wrote this. Please, no more comments telling me I'm going to be a homeless addict dying of an overdose now. Don't lecture me with all of your misconceptions and lack of any real knowledge or experience about the drug. I understand if you know someone who has been hurt by it, we all do. Any drug can ruin lives. Please ask me questions instead of trying to lecture me and do some research first before spewing lies.

And that's how it starts. The quiet denial. The justifications. He isn't chasing the high yet. He's still chasing control. Convincing himself, he still has it. But addiction never arrives all at once. It builds inch by inch until it has you.

Then, seven years later, he made another post. Spontaneous H writes, I don't know if anyone here remembers me, but you can look through my submissions history and get an idea. It's not pretty, and will take you through a journey of my first time trying age to my life quickly falling apart. So take that as a warning, it's graphic.

I was totally out of my mind. and you may not want to read it depending on where you're at. This is the first time I've logged into this account in a couple of years, and I had a bunch of PMs. And people occasionally mention this account in various places on Reddit, so I'll post a quick update here for anyone who stumbles upon this in the future. I'm now almost six years clean from all drugs and alcohol, and life is good. It's too difficult for me to go back and even read most of what I originally wrote seven years ago.

Maybe one day I'll be able to. I don't even remember what I said in the first post, but I know I can look back objectively and say that things probably weren't as good and normal before I tried age that time as I made it seem in that first post. There were certainly warning signs before that with alcohol, weed, and other things that I had issues with, substances, although I probably couldn't admit it to myself at the time. I would have never tried it if things were truly going well for me. What followed in the later post,

with where it all took me was very real. Thanks to everyone who has reached out over the years. I hope everyone here is able to find the recovery and get the help they need. Plain crash. Tragedies happen every single day. A car crash on a back road, a fight that went too far,

a mass shooting somewhere other than here, somewhere far away. Quiet chaos and destruction are happening everywhere around us, but oftentimes, we don't hear it. The world keeps on turning. Cities keep glowing, and most of us never noticed. Not because we don't care, but because the pain of others is easy to overlook

because it isn't happening to us. Somewhere, right now, someone's whole life is coming apart, and we'll never know because it wasn't us. January 15, 2023, Yeti Airlines Flight 691 was coming into Land, at its destination in Pocahara, Nepal. The flight carrying 68 passengers was in the final moments of a 25-minute journey from Nepal's capital city of Kathmandu. The pilots were in clear communication

with air traffic control who had just cleared the runway. They disengaged their autopilot, lowered their landing gear, and prepared to touch down. Inside the plane, the passengers were enjoying the final moments of their flight. They talked among themselves about the breathtaking view from hundreds of feet above ground. One man, Sonu Juswal, was on Facebook, live streaming his landing. He made a silly voice for those watching and quoted a popular South Asian meme, getting funny reactions from viewers. The camera shakes slightly as Sonu laughs, panning toward the window. The city of Pocara stretches over the small window, bright rooftops, winding roads, and the glimmer of sunlight gleaming against the soft clouds.

The weather is perfect. The sun is warm. There is no sign of panic. No sense that anything is going wrong. The passengers round him smile, relaxed, and as the plane breaks gently for descent. Then, without warning, the video jolts, a sudden tilt. Gasps. The camera catches a flash of sky as it's yanked around by the force of something we can't see.

seconds later, the pilots become aware of a sudden engine failure. The dual engines had feathered out and were providing no thrust. The plane was gliding, but in order to land, they'd need to turn. And unfortunately, this would cost them their lives. The live stream continues for a few more seconds. Enough to hear the confusion, the rising terror, the screaming before, in an instant, a blinding white light flashes across the screen, the sound of screeching metal on metal and a dull roar.

Viewers who had been watching Sonu's live stream are left staring at the ruins of a plane crash. Roaring flames erupt inches from the camera's lens, consuming the image. The fire grows for a few more seconds, getting brighter, hotter, and then the camera falls. We see the last of a smokescreen sky and the jagged metal of the newly planned.

planted ruin. On R-slash, interesting ASF, a now inactive user posted the footage of the crash. It's not gruesome, no blood, no bodies, just a happy man filming his final moments. And then fire. One commenter writes, It's so eerie seeing the final moments of someone's life so clearly, almost like it's not something I'm supposed to be seen. Just so tragic, I can't imagine what their family is must be feeling. For a few days, the video spread like wildfire. Shared, reposted, dissected frame by frame by strangers on every corner of the internet. News outlets ran headlines about the tragedy, but online, it became something else. Content. People debated what went wrong, analyzed the angle of

dissent, and the final ruling was that the pilots had made a mistake. They had moved the wrong lever when trying to engage the flaps for landing. And that was that. the video, there's something hauntingly human about it. A man, alive and laughing one moment, gone the next. No warning, no fade to black, just an ordinary morning that ended in tragedy. And it exists today as one of the most disturbing videos I've seen to date. Not because it's gruesome, but because it's a horrific example of a calm, quiet moment that turned into someone's last. Tier 3.

R slash ask a R-R-R-R-R-R-st. There is one abuse that is simply unforgivable, and the damage it does to a person isn't easily perceived, is often committed by family members or friends, people you give your heart to, people who abuse your trust. Victims often go years without speaking about their abuse, afraid they won't be believed, or worse, that they will be blamed. The systems that should protect them often fail them, and by the time anyone listens, there is no longer a space for retribution or justice.

What follows is a lifetime of rebuilding, learning to live in a world where people can be cruel and untrustworthy, and justice isn't always swift, where friends and family could be future aggressors, where around every corner could be an attacker. I'm talking about the R word, but from here on out, I'll call it non-consensual intimacy, because it just has more respect than the R word. There have been many Reddit threads over the years that have discussed non-consensual intimacy. And most would agree. These threads are helpful and important.

It gives a voice to the otherwise voiceless, a platform to share their stories and raise awareness for others in a similar situation. But one Reddit user, was curious about another element of their stories. The violent party. The perpetrators. In 2012, a user created a new thread, and although it was quickly taken down,

the content remains available to this day through archiving. The title was, Ask an R-Wordist. Here is the original post by the deactivated user, and some of the comments that followed. Reddit has had a few threads, about non-consensual intimacy victims, but are there any redditors from the other side of the story? What were your motivations?

Do you regret it? One commenter shared their own story. I was a freshman and hooking up with this girl who got undressed in bed with me, then said no. I was extremely excited, so I ignored her and didn't. She realized what was happening and tried to stop me. But it was too late, and I was much stronger than her. lasted maybe a minute, two tops. No protection, that was stupid.

I hooked up with her a few more times. I rationalized the first time through the other times, but I know that's a pretty shitty thing to do. The other times I use protection, and she didn't say no, but she seemed uncomfortable. Now I feel terrible about it, and I wish I hadn't done it. When my daughter is old enough, I'm going to have a very frank conversation on male-female relations of the sort

that I don't think most girls get. Another more despicable commenter had this to say. I have R-worded both the girls I have had long-term relationships with, each on more than one occasion, and each time has been among my most enjoyable and memorable experiences. Retaining the relationships despite this has been difficult, although my current girl is at least attracted to consensual non-consent. I have succeeded in blaming events on some.

substance abuse, too drunk, too wired, on physical accident, it slipped, on claiming to have thought they were playing along with a fantasy, or not realizing they were too intoxicated to consent and more. I consider myself to be adept at manipulating the feelings of others and do commit a large effort to my partner in other theaters of life in order to ensure that they remain satisfied with our arrangement overall. I understand that it would be typical. to feel guilty for the situation. As far as I can determine, I do not. Frankly, this entire thread was beyond sickening to read.

And the actions of these men are disgusting and inexcusable. Both of the comments I read were heavily censored. So, yeah, these were both heavily censored. So it seemed like they were almost reliving it almost. It was just very gross. In the descriptions they both gave, almost lustfully describing the horrific crimes they had committed. I cannot speak into words how angry this thread made me,

and I'm glad it was taken down, so no one has to see the full extent of their depravity ever again. A lot of sick people out there. My grandfather, the child lover. For these next few entries, I'm not going to do much introduction, as the content is extremely disturbing. These stories are very detailed and pretty long, so I'm just going to read them as is.

With that being said, here is our next. Post. Posted about a month ago, so pretty recent. User infant and innocent writes, My grandfather turned out to be a child lover. My family found out today. Let me start by saying that he is not my biological grandfather, but I only found out about this when I was 10 years old. Nobody tried to explain this to me, and so I grew up with the idea that he was my real grandfather and just grew up like an ordinary child. I don't remember much from my child. I don't remember much from my childhood, but when I was 15, strange memories began to pop up into my head. They were all related to my grandfather, that he supposedly had inappropriate contact with me during my daytime nap.

I don't remember anything specific about these events, and I always thought that it was my strange childhood invention because no one else my family talked about it, but today changed everything. My mother asked me to call her and said that four days ago, she was told that my grandfather had inappropriate contact with my cousin. My cousin is 11. My grandfather did it while she was sleeping, but in reality she was awake and was just afraid to show it. I don't know how she told the others about it. My older cousin said that she came to her work in tears and said, our grandfather is a child lover. Also child lover is kind of code for the P-word. So I can't say it on YouTube, but you know what I mean? I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but child lover,

place of the P word. And anyways, let's keep going. My older cousin and I discussed this, and it turned out that we both had similar memories, and apparently what I remembered was not my imagination, but reality. Now we are both in her 20s. She didn't know that he had ever had inappropriate contact with me, and when she told the others, her mother and grandmother did not believe her. I didn't know about this, and that's why I kept silent too. To help you understand, I also have two younger sisters who are not cousins. One of them, the middle sister, rarely went to see her grandparents, so I hope this passed her by. But for the last two years, my youngest sister spent almost all of her free time at her grandparents' house, constantly spending the night there with my

cousin. My mother is very afraid that she could have also been subjected to this. She also asked me in a conversation if something like this had ever happened to me. I initially said no, But after talking to my older cousin, I wrote her a message where I shared the information and explained that I was still not sure if it was real. She forwarded my message to my grandmother to prove to her that this was not the only case with my younger cousin. I don't know how my grandmother is. I don't want to call her after I found out that she didn't believe my older cousin and allowed it to happen again.

I also understand her feelings. She lived her whole life not the way she wanted and was afraid of condemnation from So my cousin and her aunt decided not to press charges against her grandfather. Instead, they told him to leave town, but he still comes to them and scolds them for rushing him. I am torn apart by emotions. I love my grandfather. I felt sorry for him when my grandmother yelled at him, and he always called me his beloved granddaughter.

I am disgusted by what he did. But at the same time, it hurts me to think that he has to urgently look for housing, and he suffered a stroke, two heart surgeries. During these periods, I came and looked after him together with other family members. It's all terrible. I'm far from family, but I feel like it's falling apart. I am very afraid that this affected my younger sisters. My father wants to kill my grandfather after he found out that I might have also suffered the same abuse. My uncle is returning from his shift tomorrow, and he doesn't know what grandfather did. My uncle is a mentally unhealthy man and loves his daughter very much, so everyone is afraid that he will actually kill my grandfather.

I'm sitting here, and I don't know how to deal with this. I love my family. I love my grandparents. I wanted to introduce my fiancé to them, and now everything is falling apart. My grandfather is a child lover. My grandmother and aunt once turned a blind eye to this, and only now have they all started to act. And then they feel sorry for him and allowed him to return home, so that he can take some things.

It was as if my grandmother kicked him out only because my younger cousin, with the support of my older cousin, spoke openly about the harassment. And I still don't know if he did anything to my little sister. It hurts me to think that she could have also gone through the same thing. I don't know what to do with all this. I need advice. And then one of the top comments on the post read as follows. Dude, I'm really sorry to hear about this.

It's a horrible revelation and it's totally okay to feel torn. It's not about having a perfect response because there's no playbook for a crapstorm like this. Your feelings and memories are valid. Don't doubt yourself. Try seeking professional help if things get overwhelming. Wishing strength with you and your family right now. Remember, it's okay to cut ties for healing. Blood isn't always thicker than water.

During such times, self-care has got a coast above everything else. Stay strong. Hoping for justice where it's due. Mad respect for speaking up. My son. My daughter. This next post was a comment on the subreddit, Ask Reddit.

Answering the question, what's your secret that could literally ruin your life if it came out? User ABCH shares their story. Background. I'm a guy in my late 20s, who is taken into care age 7. Everyone around me already knows that I was brought up by foster families because I had a bad early childhood. I deliberately keep it vague and say stuff like I'd rather not go into it,

so that people will just assume I was abused in some way and they'll stop asking about it. The truth is that for the first seven years of my life, I was brought up as a girl by my psycho birth mother, who really, really, really, really wanted a daughter and didn't let the snag of giving birth to a boy stop her from trying to raise one. She was a pretty successful professional in a legal field, not entirely sure what, and had me via anonymous sperm donor from a fertility clinic. She found out I was a boy at a late ultrasound and then moved across the country. She gave birth to me at home and continued to move about until I was about five or so. It was just the two of us all my life.

So we had contact with other people, of course, but they rarely got very close. I had lots of friends, was always supervised. I found out way, way after that my mother's strong paternical Christianity was a lie. She used to explain why she was so strict about me being private and never letting anyone see me getting changed or anything. I just accepted all of this as fact, having never been told anything different. I was sent to a religious school for girls and had a really great childhood. I was a bit of a tomboy and played with Lego and toy animals. Rather, than dolls and stuff. But that's not unusual and no one ever questioned if I was a girl, even me. I knew about men and women, but I had never really seen many naked people. My mother never

ever spoke to me about it, but I kind of had the impression that when I grew up and got boobs and stuff, my male parts would kind of fall off or something, and I'd be a woman, and other kids would keep theirs and they'd be men. I don't know, to be honest, I never really thought about it. Anyway, I carried on with my happy girlhood and had a bunch of friends and everything was great until I was seven and a teacher accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee over me at school. The liquid soaked through my clothes and was scalding me so the staff immediately stripped me out of my dress and underwear to get the hot coffee away from my skin. And then they found out.

The cops were called and I got taken to speak with who I guess would be social services. They asked me a bunch of questions about life at home and stuff. Meanwhile, my mother was taken in for questioning too. She refused to acknowledge me as male and insisted I was her daughter because she was, you know, delusional and stuff. I wasn't allowed to go back home but got put with a foster family and went through loads of therapy and stuff. The worst part was that literally overnight, I lost everything. My mother, my home, all my toys, all my clothes, I moved schools to lost all my friends. They cut all my hair off and told me I wasn't a girl.

anymore. It was really, really traumatic. The first foster home wasn't that great. They had three boys already, and going from a sheltered, religious-only child upbringing to a rough and tumble testosterone-filled environment was really difficult. They tried to force me to emasculate, and I was just too confused about what they wanted. Anything girly was reprimanded, and I felt so lost and alone because nothing I did was right. I tried to commit S-word when I was 11, and again at because I didn't feel like I fit in anywhere. After the second attempt, they moved me to a different foster family who were awesome. I consider them to be my parents. They actually stood up for me. The first thing was that they let me grow my hair. From when I got taken into care, they buzzed my hair

short, and I hated it. They always had to hold me down and do it forcibly when I was crying and fighting. My new parents flatly refused to do it and said that loads of boys had long hair. They also let me quit karate and football and take up swimming and jazz dance. Since I'd been in care, no one had ever stood up for my right to choose what activities to do, or how to dress before. It was amazing. In the end, I came out of it with a pretty healthy gender identity. I'm a guy, but not the most bitch guy ever, but I'm fine with that. I went through school and got my degree, and I have a pretty good job in an amazing, supportive wife. Everything looks great, but I can never speak about my early childhood and how I grew up as a little girl.

The boy on the phone. 911 operators have one of the most important and devastating jobs on the planet. It's commonplace to develop mental exhaustion from all of the terrible things one has to hear working such a difficult job. This is one story posted by Stepside 79 in response to the question, 911 operators. What's the scariest call you've ever answered? The user replies. I've posted this before when someone asked me what the most important call I've ever had in my job. So here goes.

I'm a 911 police dispatcher. The most important phone call I ever received is when I just started with the police about 16 years ago. I was 21. About two months in. Very green and still getting used to this crazy job. So I get a call from a male who flipped his car on the high. highway and was trapped. This wasn't unusual to be honest. It does happen from time to time, especially in rural areas and at night when people drive while they're sleepy. Most people are

bugging out and screaming while I try to get their influence and help. My job is basically to obtain a location, start police, fire and ambulance rolling that way and keep the caller calm and speaking to me to make sure he doesn't lose consciousness. So the driver involved, who I'll call Zach, was about my age-ish, early 20s, very calm and cooperative and even joking. He was hanging upside down because the car was on its side and he had it injured his leg. It was all good. Help was about 10 minutes out and Zach and I were chatting and even laughing about this crazy experience. I knew he was blocking the roadway in his vehicle and was hoping a passerby would stop and help him out. Unfortunately, he was on a blind corner and a car came flying

around and struck his rolled-over vehicle while he was still talking to me. Lots of screaming and yelling. I could tell he was pretty messed up, but I tried to keep him talking. He was just coughing and moaning. Sadly, the 10 things that need to happen for a car to ignite happened. Smoke and flame started pouring into Zach's car, and he started screaming, Fire. I'm on fire. Basically, I listened while this poor kid. burned to death. I still think about that call daily when I come to work. I've trained several new dispatchers and told that story to all of them. I've always said it's the most important call I've ever taken because nothing will ever, ever be as bad as that. It's helped me deal with

all sorts of madness I've been involved in, including hundreds of essays, domestics, shootings, pursuits, hostage situations, etc. But, yeah, after that the rest of this is easy and now onto tier four and this is getting to some rough stuff some very disturbing things and also i'll keep the kind of intro is kind of short because the posts themselves are super long so i'll just keep the intro very short for each one but um onto the first entry being my son is disabled this next story is by a single mother user special needs devil who made a post explaining her situation and received heavy backlash for the story we're about to hear in detail. This was her response.

She writes, I can't tell anyone this, even my therapist. Lamb asked me if you want, and maybe I even deserve it. I only ask what you would do if you were in my situation. Not what you think people should do. What you would really do. I'm a single mom of two boys, 12 and 7. My husband passed away three years ago in a work accident.

A very large portion of me believe it was a S-word. I can't see him ever making the mistake he made that caused his death. And he had taken an action just before that, which ensured his coworkers weren't in the room. I fully believed he committed S-word because of our younger son, and no one will ever change my mind. We were told when I was pregnant that he would have Down syndrome. We could handle that, even if it was severe. It turned out he has a chromosome deletion. His disorder is kind of rare, so I won't post which specific one, but suffice to say,

he'll never be anything more than he is now or has ever been. And what he is, is nothing. He doesn't appear to have any awareness and never has. His eyes are locked in one position. He doesn't respond to noise, touch, or pain. He is total care. He is capable of nothing. He is tube-fed and on oxygen.

He is in diapers and will forever be. He makes no sounds, no attempts to communicate. He never even really cried as a baby. He has never made an attempt to interact with anyone or his environment. I'm not upset because I got a special needs imperfect child. I feel the way I feel because this thing takes up 200% of my time and does nothing. I didn't get an imperfect child. I didn't get a child.

I don't love him. He doesn't have any personality. There is nothing to love. And yet, I'm responsible for him. In addition to his extreme delays, he's also medically fragile. Respiratory crises, fecal impactions, his autonomic nervous system doesn't function properly, issues with his G-tube, infections, pressure sores, no matter what we put him on, or how we position him. Our older son has suffered because his non-existent brother has colored everything in his life.

He's had medical care get delayed because there's only one of me and his brother is more critical. We do have a visiting home nurse but only 20 hours a week and we aren't eligible for more. I was starting law school. I gave up my dreams and my plans for my children for this potato. My older son can't do a lot of things he wants to because of the younger's need for care and appointments. The final straw was I heard a sound. I went into younger son's room to check, thinking he had forgotten how to breathe again, and saw older son hitting him and screaming,

You're why I don't have a mother. You're why I don't have a father. You're why I can't have friends over. You're why I can't be in sports. I didn't ask for you, and I hope you die. Instead of being horrified, I watched. And younger son just did, not react. no signs of pain or fear or upset no reaction at all he breathes but he is not alive he doesn't know who i am

he doesn't know who older son is he has no sense of self life experience or awareness of his surroundings he doesn't need to be in my home he doesn't know or care where he is he is genetically my son, but he is not family. My previously abused, brain-damaged cat who can't walk straight, has more personality, and is far more lovable than my child. In fact, I was looking forward to raising a Downs baby, even one with severe impairments for that reason. With disability can come gifts. This boy is not a gift. He is a genetic mistake I probably should have miscarried and would have definitely terminated if I'd known he would have been like this. And the flip side is, if he has awareness, he's miserable and there's nothing I can do.

If he has likes and dislikes, no one knows what they are. If he is in pain, he can't tell anyone. If he wants anything, he can't communicate. He's had every imaginable therapy. Nothing has made a difference. And so he's leaving our home on the 29th. I feel excited and relieved and then guilty because I know we'll be happier with him gone.

He's already taken my husband and my son's father. He was working so, so, so much overtime to pay for this cucumber's care. For the experimental therapy's insurance wouldn't cover, because this was going to be the breakthrough. He was tired and defeated and disappointed. He sought counseling as well, but I don't think he could ever say the words, I don't want my son in my home either. He has ruined my older son. I was so wrapped up on the younger, I never realized how ignored and damaged he was. He lost his father too. I didn't just. just lose my husband. He is my priority now and this malignant lump can be someone else's problem.

At least they will be paid a wage to care for him. At least they'll get a break from him when they punch out. I just want to never think of him again and I'm not sorry. And for that, I'm sorry. Thanks for reading. Edits, thanks Pico Niques for calling me a liar. Are you a medical doctor? If your Google Fu was any good, you would have stumbled on 3P maseatic deletion duplication syndrome. That is the disorder my son has. I've basically identified myself by posting that by, hey, it's better than the PM's telling me to commit S word. If you look at the features of 3P deletion syndromes, they look like downs. My insurance didn't cover AFP testing, which would have told us it wasn't downs, and I didn't think we needed it.

I had a regular ultrasound and a 3D. Both doctors were 99% sure it was downs. This post was absolutely not fiction. Instead, the mods and especially Pico Niques just decided it was. If anyone would like, I'll docks myself. You can see my ID to verify my name, my marriage license, and my husband's death certificate. I will then link you to the news article of the freak industrial accident

that ended his life so you can see it's the same person. As for not choosing hospice for my son, I can't. About a year ago, I myself was hospitalized with severe depression and CPTASD. There was proof of that too. During that time, my late husband's mother petitioned to get control as my son's medical proxy and got it. I'm fighting it, but it's a long, complicated process. There are competency hearings. There are statements from doctors and evaluations. unless she okay's hospice, which she refuses, I cannot decide that. I have custody. I cannot make medical decisions.

She agreed to residential care, which I feel is the second best option. So he's going into residential care. As for mistaking a child choking with hitting, I was downstairs. I couldn't hear what my older son was saying. I only knew he was speaking. Go punch a blanket, or I don't know, a person with weak muscle tone. then asked said person with meek muscles to cough they didn't cough normally slash forcefully it's more a strong puff similar to again i don't know a muted punch when you're used to jumping at every strange

sound it's difficult to discern what's what sometimes and that post is just beyond depressing for sadly everybody involved i mean hopefully everybody in that family can find some sort of happiness or solace in what they end up doing but i hope uh her her son both sons end up all right i hope she ends up all right and uh rest in peace the her husband i mean yeah very depressing story and hopefully they're doing better now bring her back all right and now on to the final post of today's video and the iceberg and fair warning this one is incredibly depressing even more infuriating and very very very disturbing. Posted by user F your coconut, our last post is titled, You Can Come Over Again When You Bring Me My Daughter. Hello, I'm a first time poster, but I discovered this subreddit a few

months ago. I was talking about this subreddit with my therapist, and she gave me the homework of speaking out more about my story to see if it lessen my pain. I've written and deleted this post maybe seven times now, but I think it's time to get it out. I've spoken English for 30 years, but it's not my first language, and occasionally I use the word wrong because that's what the direct translation is, so I apologize in advance if I confuse anyone. This is going to be a long post as I'm a rambler, and there is a lot of background involved. This happened 12 years, two months, and 13 days ago on Wednesday, November 2nd, 2005. My husband got married in 2002 and had our son. 10 months later in the same year. In May 2004, we welcomed our twin girls. My family was beautiful.

Every time I took a picture of us, we looked like the family in the stock photos you can Google for. My husband is an engineer, and I'm a college professor. We had a nice house in the city. Our children were healthy and happy. We even had a golden retriever named Argo, as if we weren't the picture of a familial happiness as is. I can no longer look at the pictures of us because it makes me too angry. When my twin girls were born, we had no issues in the hospital. They were born right on their due date, latched perfectly, and passed all their postnatal tests with stellar stats. When we brought them home, however, we noticed that one of the girls, let's call her oldest daughter, since she was a whole four and a half minutes older than her sister,

was developing a rash. I hadn't really dealt with allergies and kids since my son didn't have them and neither did any child or adults in my entire family. I wasn't sure what it was. I thought that maybe she just had sensitive skin like me. I can't tolerate certain fabrics because I have very dry skin and I'll often break out in rashes if my skin decides that it doesn't like something.

So I stopped using fabric softener on all the clothes. about the nicest, most comfortable bedding and clothes. At one point, I even made her clothes myself and the fear that maybe something in the manufacturing process was upsetting my oldest daughter. We went to the doctor several times, and they knew that she was having an allergic reaction to something. But every test came back negative, and we couldn't figure out what it was. It took three more months to figure it out.

During that time, her allergic reactions got more and more severe. At one point, she was the only baby in the same. the history of the hospital who had to be kept in a clean room because she seemed to have a reaction the minute she left. When that happened, we began an elimination therapy that would rival the lifestyle of Buddhist monks. My husband and I moved our son and youngest daughter in with his parents because we needed to eliminate everything from our routine to figure out what was causing the reaction in our oldest daughter. We stopped using our soap, our shampoo, our deodorants, our laundry detergents, and that was before we even got to our diet.

It took us three more months, but we finally figured it out. Our oldest daughter was allergic to coconut. The doctors told us that it was a particularly rare allergen, and so it wasn't on any of the skin test panels they ran. When we found out what she was allergic to, we were relieved. So, so relieved. But in addition to feeling relieved, I delved into a bout of hysterical laughter.

I laughed so hard I cried. And to this day, my husband tells me that he didn't know if I was crying from a leaf or pure happiness. You see, I come from a culture that uses coconut almost religiously. It's in our cooking. We break a coconut open at religious events. It's used in almost all sweets. It's in everything.

The reason I was laughing was because of how much I hated one particular use for coconut. When I was a kid, pretty much up until I was in the eighth class, my mother would put coconut oil in my hair all the time. It looked greasy as hell. I hated it. And once I was old enough to start doing my own hair, I never put that stuff in my hair ever again. I was laughing so hard because, of course, I had a daughter

with a severe allergy to the one thing I hated my entire life. We had a lot of fun telling people about her allergy, and everyone laughed because they all knew about my hatred for coconut oil. We told my mother and she laughed as well. She made jokes about how my baby must have heard me talking about my hatred for coconut oil while she was still cooking inside me and decided that she needed to hate it too. We all got a good laugh and left it at that. Or so I thought. My mother and I have always had a contentious relationship at best. We got along well enough, but we disagreed vehemently on certain topics. She wanted a traditional daughter who'd be religious,

get a college degree in marriage, and marry a man that she and my father picked out, come and where I'm from, have two kids, a house in the suburbs near her, and be a stay-at-home mom like her. I'm not religious in the slightest. I have two undergraduate degrees,

went on to get a master's, and a PhD, didn't get married until 27, late in my culture. And I married a man who was the polar opposite of what my parents wanted, as if this wasn't enough. I was a working mom who didn't need her to babysit since my husband and I made more than enough

for a part-time nanny. Essentially, the best way I can summarize our relationship is by saying that she was very proud of me and loved to talk about my accomplishments. But I could always tell that she wished I was something else. We have a fair amount of safe topics that we can talk about, but I could never discuss anything too serious with her such as politics or my career, not because she'd get mad at me, but because she just wasn't interested. and I hate getting into conversations where I'm passionate about something, but the other person could care less. As far as raising my children,

my mother would agree 99.9% of the time she was hands off and respected all of my decisions, even if she didn't like them sometimes. Example, I chose not to raise my kids religiously, but I still took them to community events so they could understand their roots and my mother never pushed them to pray. The only thing she continually got on my case about was the coconut oil thing.

You see, my girls have very textured and curly hair. We don't really know where they got it from. Considering my husband and I have pin straight hair that won't even hold a paperclip in it without slipping. I loved it. It was a little on the rough side, and my mother always insisted that a little bit of oil would make the curl soft and more to find.

I always said no. Sure, we could use a different type of oil, but my girls were still so young in the allergy process had made me terrified of incorporating new things into their routine. I made sure I explained why to my mom too. She remembered what we'd be gone through with my oldest daughter and her allergy. She brought me food and closed at the hospital more than a few times. She helped me move all my furniture and clothes out of my house

when I was eliminating every possible source of allergen. She taught me how to cook from scratch when I was eliminating certain foods from the kids' diet. She knew everything about my oldest daughter's struggle. To this day, I cannot understand how she did what happened. next. November 2nd, 2005. I was giving a midterm that day to my students, and I had to be at my research lab late that night. My husband was away at some conference, and our nanny was down with the flu, so she couldn't watch the kids that day. So I had my mom come take them for the day. My son was almost three years old, and the girls were a year and a half old. Overnight visits

with my parents weren't exactly common, but they weren't unusual either. They had always come back from these visits very happy and well taken care of, so I had no second thoughts about leaving them with my parents. They spoke to me on the phone after their lunch, and then around 5 p.m., we video-chatted. The kids were also happy and healthy. I got home around 10.30 p.m. that night and called my mom to see if the kids were up by any chance, and I could say good night. I missed the kids by about 20 minutes. They had already gone to bed. So I talked to my mom for a little bit, but she's a pretty early sleeper, too, so we hung up and went to bed. I woke up around 5 a.m. the next morning to go pick up my husband from the airport at 6.

We were going to get breakfast together and then go pick up the kids. I picked up my husband and neither one of us was very hungry yet, so we thought it'd be a nice treat to pick up the kids first and go to breakfast slash brunch with my parents. We got to my parents' house at 7.45 a.m. My parents were not there. My son was at the neighbor's house and ran outside with the neighbor, as soon as he saw his daddy and me pull up.

He was hysterical and crying and could not calm him down. My blood pressure was rising because now I'm thinking that something horrible had happened to my parents. My neighbor tells me that she isn't sure what's happening. But there was an ambulance at my parents' house at 6 a.m. And my dad had run over and woke them up to see if they could watch my son for a few hours until he got back. Of course, they'd say yes. I'm calling my parents' nonstop at this point.

and I'm getting frantic because I don't know what's happening. My son was still crying, but he was calmer. He still couldn't really explain to me what had happened, though. I honestly don't remember the details of what happened next. But somehow, we figured out that the ambulance was from X hospital nearby, and we broke several driving laws trying to get there. We got to the hospital, pulled into the emergency entrance that was for ambulances only,

left the car and bolted inside. A few nurses took notice of us immediately, and were asking us what was wrong. I was calmer than my husband at this point, so I explained that I didn't know. But my twin girls and my parents were here somewhere. I'll never forget the look on that nurse's face. She knew exactly who I was in that moment,

and she was about a cry. Another nurse took me and my husband to an empty room and asked us to calm down and listened to the doctor before we went to find my family. My mother had put coconut oil in both my daughter's hair before bed. The girls loved it when my mom did their hair, and so they had asked for braids, and my mom was doing their hair. She put coconut oil in both their hair because it would make for smoother braids. According to my son, my older solder started to get a little dizzy and itchy.

When my mom was doing her hair, so my mom gave her some kids Benadryl, which made her sleepy. Since it was close to bedtime anyways, the kids then went to bed. Giving her Benadryl was something we did whenever she had a mild reaction since it usually meant she accidentally came across some coconut from a secondary source. We also showered her from head to toe immediately to erase any lingering traces of it. My mother simply gave her some Benadryl and kept the coconut oil in her hair and put her to fucking sleep. The Benadryl made her sleepy and unable to wake up or be conscious enough to wake up her brother or cry.

She vomited in her sleep and the rash spread all over. Her little body was swollen to twice the size. She had asphyxiated in her sleep. She died painfully and slowly in the early hours of the morning. My mother had found her when she went to check on the kids in the morning around 7 a. am. She was already dead by then. My mother screamed, called for my dad, and that's when they'd gone to the hospital. My dad had not known about the coconut oil until my mom explained, and to this day, I've never seen my father so angry. He was still unable to look at my mother, out of fury,

or look at me, out of shame, when I saw him at the hospital. They had rushed me to the hospital, hoping there was some way to save my oldest daughter and to get my young. youngest daughter checked out immediately since he thought she might have a mild allergy as well. I can't even explain to you the emotions my husband and I felt. I remember seeing my little girl and just being in denial. There was no way that she was gone. This had to be a horrible, horrible nightmare. The following days, the funeral, and explaining to my other kids what had happened

are events I still can't talk about because it just breaks a part of me. My mother was investigated, as well as my entire family. I almost lost my kids to my country's version of CPS because they thought my kids were in danger. My husband and I had to fight tooth and nail to show that uprooting them during this time would be the worst thing for them at the moment. My mother was never arrested. My father did leave her, though they're not officially divorced. The majority of my mother's family refused to speak to her.

and the few that do speak to her only do so on a limited basis. She currently lives on her own in a small town, and every couple of months I'll get a call from her telling me how sorry she is and how she just wasn't thinking, and can I please find a way to forgive her? She wants to come see me. The only thing I can find to ever say to her is, you can come see me when you bring my daughter with you.

It's been 13 years. My oldest son just got his license this year, and my youngest daughter is going to start high school soon. Both of them are healthy, and they're turning into amazing adults. But neither one has been the same since my oldest daughter passed away. My oldest son is extremely protective of my youngest daughter, and doesn't allow anyone to breathe rudely in his presence. My youngest daughter used to be so bubbly and such a talkative little kid, but she's quiet now.

When she does speak, it takes some effort to hear her because she's so quiet. She told me a few years ago that she knows she was only a baby when it happened, but she feels incomplete all the time, like a part of her is missing. I didn't know what to say to her. If it weren't for my dear husband, I don't think I could have ever recovered from the loss of my daughter. We have helped each other through the loss. It's taken over a decade of therapy to even,

even get to this point. I don't know what I expect to get out of typing all this out, but I've seen how much comfort this suburb brings other posters, so hopefully I find some of the same piece. And that was the last post of today's iceberg, or this video's iceberg. And even though this final post wasn't the most graphic per se, or shocking, as some of the earlier posts were, this post is just as depressing and disturbing as something could be a mother losing her daughter and her mother and father i mean even though her mother's not dead they will never be on good terms again her mother's life has ruined her father's life has ruined it truly is a depressing one of the most surprising posts I've ever read.

And like I said, even though it wasn't shocking per se, or, you know, graphic, like some of the early ones. I mean, every single post in today's video was horrible. I mean, I really feel for everybody in this video and hope they can get the help they need and get to a place where they're happy because a lot of people in today's video were in a rough spot. And if you're in a rough spot,

please talk to somebody. I have an email, so just email me if you're in a rough spot. I'll try my best to reply. But yeah, just people are out there, and I feel for everybody in today's video we talked about. And that was the final post. I hope you enjoyed today's video nonetheless. And let me know that on the comments below.

Would you like to see a video like this in the future? Another video like this in the future. Please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know. And this was Snook. And I'll see you next time. Bye.