Snook - The Internet’s Most Horrifying Confessions

Episode Date: August 21, 2026

From a horrifying confession about a man who admits to k*lling his best friend... to a user who abandons their baby who has down syndrome... these are The Internet's Most Horrifying Confessions. These stories are truly some of the saddest and most depressing stories I've ever read, I hope every OP and emailer in this video is doing better now. Would you like to see me make similar videos in the future? Leave your thoughts down below in the comment section, and make sure to like and subscribe! Please do not attempt to contact anyone talked about in this video. Timestamps! 0:00 | Intro 1:02 | I k*lled my best friend... 9:37 | I abuse some of the most addicting substances in the world... 38:09 | I abandoned my baby on a down syndrome diagnosis 50:55 | Im being harassed by mobsters 1:20:07 | I did something dangerous in South America... 1:33:51 | I cheated on my fiance at my Bachelorette party 1:52:59 | I seduced my teacher, and then blackmailed him 1:58:21 | Outro Send a confession to be read! [e-mail] Join the Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠ Follow me on instagram and Spotify! If your story or post was included in today's video and you wish for it to be taken down, please reach out to this email. [e-mail] And yes, I'm a human voice. NEXT SUB GOAL - 1,000,000 subscribers! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey what's up guys and welcome back to the channel and today we're getting into the internet's most horrifying confessions and oh boy do i have some depraved disturbing and just downright sad and disgusting confessions for you guys today so make sure to stick around and i appreciate you guys stop by means world and make sure you like the video and subscribe to the channel the channel subscriber goal is one million subscribers before the end of the year and i think we can do it So all the support helps so, so much. And also follow me on Instagram and Spotify. That helps so much.

And if you'd like to get early access to every single video I release, go subscribe to me over on Patreon. And that's enough self-plugs for now. Let's get back to the main topic. Today we are getting into some very, very heavy confessions. And this is a long one. So I'm not going to keep yapping here for long. So sit back, relax, grab a drink, and grab a snack.

And without further ado, Let's get into the Internet's most horrifying confessions. I killed my best friend. I killed my best friend. Not even accidentally. But before you judge me, please hear my story. I used to be a big time junkie. Really?

I mean, think of drugstore cowboys, a scanner darkly or train spotting type of stuff. In case you've been listening. living under a rock, just pictured the stereotypical dope fiend from anti-drug propaganda that they used to scare away teenagers from using. Extremely skinny, poor hygiene, bad teeth, messy hair, and skin pale as a dude's with stage three lung cancer. That was me. It started with pot and shrooms and then slowly progressed from there. Even before I tried any drug, I was sure that I will never be using needles. It's just nasty and looks very uncomfortable. Yet in the blink of an eye,

I found myself with a needle and using H. It all went on downhill from there. I was hooked on that stuff and on booger sugar too and probably a whole bunch of other stuff. It wasn't long before I dropped out of school and left home to live together with four other junkies whom I called friends in a bad downtown apartment. One of them was my best friend, to whom I will only refer to as R. He was my best buddy, always looking out for me just as I was looking out for him. You know when you are a druggie, everyone judges you? No one understands you.

I mean, some people will say they understand, but if you look them in the eye, you see the same thing. Pity and disgust. No one cares for a druggie, except for another drugie. They know what a pain this is, living like this. If it wasn't for R, I would not be alive today. He saved my life so many times, helped me out financially when it was necessary, or just helping to get a job, because that is something hard to come by for a dope fiend. Anyways, you get what I'm saying. Every one of us has that special friend who is the closest, the one you truly care for, the one you feel like is a brother or a sister to you. Well, to me, that was R. So this one night, the boys brought home a new batch of H, potent stuff. We were sitting in the living room on the

couch in front of the TV, preparing it, with the whole ordeal, spoons, and cotton, and all the typical stuff. Everyone was very agitated, almost nervous like to finally get their fix. Usually, R was the last to do it, and I would do it just before him. But that night, we let R go first because he was suffering from some rough withdrawal symptoms, cold sweating, feverish state, anyhow. So we are arguing on what food to order for later that night, and what film to watch while R did his stuff. Next thing we know, he falls real hard

on the table, drooling all over himself. We quickly picked him up and put him on the couch. His eyes were rolled back. He was not responsive. He ODed. We all knew it.

He wanted it up to the dosage. Took too much, way too much. He needed medical attention. Real fast. The problem was we were sitting on approximately a ton of H, booger sugar, 50 to 60 pills of all sorts of stuff,

and many hundreds of grams of shrooms in a bit of DMT and other pills, not to mention weed. We would have been effed if authorities would have found us like this. Two of the other guys have already had problems with the law. They got away with doing rehab, but next time they would face actual time. We argued.

and decided that someone gets all the drugs and other stuff from the loft down to my car and drives away and then we call an ambulance. I didn't like the idea, but I wasn't in a position to oppose. I don't want to spend time in jail either, so I helped to collect all the dope I could find and pack it up as fast as I could. One of the guys took it down to my car and left. I rushed to the phone and dialed 911 as fast as I could. We wasted enough time. more time than what R had. Roughly no more than three minutes before the medics arrived, he went into a seizure.

I was right by his side the whole time. The paramedics couldn't save him. His heart stopped just moments before they entered. If we would have called an ambulance right away, he would still be alive. In a sense, I killed him. I killed my best friend. It happened exactly.

one year ago today. I thought I would share it somewhere, somehow, I guess to keep his memory alive and to remind myself what I have done. I got cleaned up soon after the incident. It really changes to you if something like this happens. It changes your perspective and your values. It could have been me dying, not him. I value my life more now.

I'm working right now in an IT call center and taking evening classes to get my under graduate degree. I'm living a normal life, but all of this does not change what I did. If there is a hell, I'm going there for sure. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One user says, paramedic here, we don't care about your stash. As a matter of fact, it is specific policy in my department, fire slash rescue, not to involve law enforcement if we've seen narcotics or evidence of other criminal activity, except abused or neglected children or seniors. I think OP's story makes the reason obvious. Call us.

We want to save lives. Not bust anyone. I have rolled on dozens of OD calls. I've seen huge bundles of drugs and cash. The most I might do is drop a community service brochure on a table as I leave. Save a life. Call us first, then worry about hiding your shit. another user responds and says fellow paramedic here 100% agree although we don't have a policy where

I am the only time I've ever called for the cops is when other addicts in the room interfere with my treatment of a OD while trying to grab stashes or if someone gets confrontational I will save the life of and treat those in need I couldn't care less about what's in the room or anything unless the welfare of the children elderly or spousal abuse use is a concern. I have dedicated my life to helping those who call. So call us. That's what we are here for. Another user says, holy God, all junkies know death is a risk. There is a huge difference between murder and accidental OD in front of idiots. Man O.P. I hope you got clean. And someone responds and says, I don't know. Maybe it's not murder, but it's close.

they could have called 9-1-1 and flush the drugs. They could have called 911 and dealt with the repercussions. Instead, they valued their stash over their buddy's life. I wouldn't blame O.P. completely, though. Addiction is horrible. You could also blame the broken drug laws as much as O.P. and his friends. There would have been no consideration slash discussion if they didn't have to worry about being arrested.

That said, nothing is going to bring them back. So at least O.P. made sure his friend did not die, vain. O.P. changed his life and is now moving forward. That's probably the best way he can honor his friends. I abuse the two most addictive drugs in the world, Sarah and Crystal M. And I can't say the drug name, but it's the breaking bad drug. You guys know what I'm saying. But let's get into the confession. It's July 22nd, 2026, 7 p.m. And she asks if I have anything on my mind.

I say no. I just feel fluttery. And boy, do I feel fluttery. I'm high on crystal. Now I'm downstairs, wasting away in the basement. Hearing her soothing voice singing along. To what? I never know.

It's always different and new and charming. Her music taste is impeccable. Just like she is. Tears streamed down my face. I was young, and I had access to Craigslist Personals. If you know, you know. I believe me and my brother were looking for hot cougars who would sleep with us when we were younger. It was just a funny ha-ha moment, really, until the iPod touch launched, and now a hormone-charged child had sparked himself a rather unique curiosity. I started to actually reach out to people, grown women and men. And now a hormone-charged child had sparked himself a rather unique curiosity. I started to actually reach out to people, grown women and men. Some people would respond, asked to call or meet, and obviously as a child, I had no way of achieving this goal, and the ruse would be up. You think this is where this would stop, right? Except pretty frequently, grown men would offer to facilitate these types of meetings.

Obviously, I was a bold child, and these were some bold men, and some rather strange and inappropriate meetings had occurred. Some were disturbing, and needless to say, I experienced some things children shouldn't. One experience that gnaws at me started me on a path the path I am on, one of hate and drug abuse. A portly Mexican man picked me up at my literal school bus stop. We drove the short drive to his mobile home in a cd trailer park. There, that night, I was taught how to smoke crystal. We proceeded to do some rather ungodly and horrible to admit, but so incredibly good-feeling things. Because of that night, tonight will be the night the abuse ends.

For one drug, at least. I'm 18. In a few years of my father's toxic masculinity and repulsion of all things non-conservative has me 100% straight. I'm dating a nice girl. She wants to join the military. and do all these wonderful things with her life. And I tag along like a good little male role model. Who knows?

Maybe I will join the Air Force and be a real something. Let's go enjoy adulthood. Except I still think about that night. I think about learning how to smoke crystal. The awful taste when it's burnt. But the way it spreads to euphoria. And then I start to think about my intimate preferences. and I'm disgusted by myself.

I'm pushing down these mixed emotions, a repulsion of drug use, with an emphasis on how disgusting crystal is. A repulsion to my own intimate preferences, for so many effed up reasons, whatever, compartmentalized and soldier on. I'm 19, me and my nice girl have moved together a couple of times and things are okay-ish. We are engaged, and I don't remember. really know why. Just what you do in relationships. But iPhone are a thing now, and some thoughts

tend to creep up when you have an unhealthy relationship with your intimate preferences, and they're amplified. I think because the first enjoyable male experience I had was tied to crystal use. My closet is a little more effed up than anyone else's. Guess who comes on the scene? Grindr. Hey, this is familiar. I did this on Craigslist before everyone. Ha, cooler than you. Here first. Oh, I would never cheat on nice girl.

No way. That's an awful thing to do. Well, things aren't exactly popping off. And just looking can't hurt, right? Well, one look always turns into another, and several looks makes the attempt. I wasn't out to make myself that kind of person, but I did it and did it again,

and compartmentalized it, and never was honest with nice girl. Things ended with her for an unrelated reason, particularly ugly. Things were said, and a lot of confidence was lost in the end of that relationship. But I had set the stage for myself, for my grand masterpiece of selfishness, my unwillingness to admit to the harm this behavior puts an innocent person at, and the needless heartache for anyone too emotionally unavailable to just simply be on with those around us.

I'm 20 years old. I move back home after the attempt at Trab Life. I'm not in the best headspace ever, but this one is particularly elevated. I'm on Grindr, single this time, and I find a guy with just a random capital T in his name. A well-known secret amongst the gay community is the taboo of engaging in casual crystal consumption.

It's called. all sorts of things. And I'm not going to list the names, but I was naive and just thought I was meeting a man called Scott or whatever. I was then reintroduced to Crystal. I should have known better,

but I went ahead with it anyways. While it does increase pleasure for me, it removed all the shame and disgust I was feeling. I was awake for a few days, feeling great, and then the crash came. So much

disgust. What a vile effing person. Hainess. Homo intimacy. Drug use. A vile come down like no other. I just wanted it to no longer keep going. I deleted the app. I recompartmentalized my hatred for myself as best I could. Told myself I was above this tweaker phase and go be a real man. we don't make well-informed emotional decisions in this family we don't go to counseling and if we do we just act our way through it we don't take the personal accountability to re-examine our life or our moral upbringings i'm still 20 i remember because callie had just advanced the tobacco age requirement and i was pissed and i was living with my most well-adjusted father who at this point in his life is working on his third marriage and his 57th attempt to get a stable job i'm not happy with my life i'm hiding in plain sight

reeling from my first attempt at adult life on my own local community college open enrollment is starting and i like helping people let's go find a career path so i mess around for a week doing the typical orientation stuff and i go to the smoking area and there's a girl there smoking She's familiar. Who is she? We had been in grade school together. Her name was Sarah, and the king of all drug dealers had just hooked me up with the purest form of happiness I've ever encountered naturally. She's so elevating.

She's so cute. She's just a beam of light showing me beauty in a world I find so dark and ugly. She invites me to a Halloween party after several days of me skipping entire classes. Just so I would be there when she came. came to the smoking section. I don't know what I did to deserve this chance, but I take it. Everything moves so fast when you're high. Reasoning and decision-making is out the window.

I'm 100% invested into this new drug. We move in together. We share everything. No secrets are left unbeared. I pour my heart and my soul into this woman, and she reciprocates like nothing else. My life is the best it's. ever been, the best it could ever be. Except I'm not 100% honest. I carry so much shame about a

specific part of me, and I cannot risk losing this wonderful and cherished thing. Certainly, she could hang out with one of my items of baggage, but no way could she bear the weight of what I bear. I so stupidly convinced myself, so I omit details. This is okay. This is what work for us. Certainly I can maintain hiding this unexamined amalgam. This bundle of hate and shame and cravings and impure thoughts, certainly this will never leak back out into my life. And I find myself so conflicted and confused. If this is so right and so wonderful, why does something feel off? What is it about this that makes me feel so uncertain? Like I'm setting us up for failure. like I'm building on a foundation that isn't solid.

I'm so high on Sarah, I convince myself it's a non-issue or that I will face it if it comes up because it's all in my past. Things are great. Things were great for a year. But tragedy struck. And suddenly, in a wildfire, almost everyone we know, ourselves included, had lost every possession they owned. People lost jobs, and in the wake of tragedy, you do what you can. So, in likely one of the most stressful moments in our lives, I double down. Our families branded together.

Now there's seven of us in one college dorm apartment. Life is upside down for a bit, but Sarah isn't. Sarah handles everything with so much grace. She accepts challenge. My stimulant of choice, my normalcy, my light when everything, everything is dark. But I'm spiraling. I've lost so much emotionally, and I'm not appreciating how good life truly is. I start to delve into the box of personal issues, and there's something waiting for me. This is where my true shame in disgust comes from. I'm 20-some-odd years

old. I've lived through tragedy and loss. I have the emotional stability to be better than I was before. I have weeks and weeks of opportunity to just be honest, to just start a conversation. Hey babe, I should have said something, but I'm probably a little by, and you should probably know I was essentially fed Crystal as a kid, so maybe we need to be on the lookout for abuse potential, and maybe we should re-examine us while it's as good as an opportunity as it could be. You make me feel wonderful, and I don't want to do anything to put that at risk. or hurt you. Nope, that would be the logical and easy decision. Remember, kids, we don't make well-informed emotion decisions in this house. After a while, these thoughts and feelings move

from occasional pangs into what is pretty much just daily cycle of self-doubt and repression. I'm doing the right thing still. I'm not cheating. I'm just not liking myself and holding baggage. I know I shouldn't and I hold myself off for as long as I can, but I download Grindr. And I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm not meeting anyone. I'm just exploring some feelings. And it's just conversation.

Nobody can be hurt. Until she finds I'm on the app. I remember the day so vividly. The tense heavy air. I was certain everyone in the house could sense it. She confronted me. And I'm instantly drenched. in a white-hot shame.

I see her world falling apart, our world falling apart. I see tears, real tears on my face. I've just put my everything at risk. My stability, my constant source of warmth and comfort. She's so hurt.

And I do and say things I can do to unhurt. I'm reacting on instinct. I know now I was reacting like an addict about to lose his plug. Things were tense for a bit, but we moved on, moved into a new house by ourselves. Things were good again. Stuff it down and move on. The crystal craving started, or were becoming more frequent,

even though I hadn't touched that stuff but twice ever. A few months of good behavior, some healthy repression and walling off wasn't exactly helping. I wanted to get high. I knew right where to get it. So back on Grindr, there's an Anthony and a Timothy. It was staring at me, and I was staring at it. I flirted with the idea. I told myself no.

I told myself, maybe. I told myself it was just about the crystal. Maybe this is a thing I can do without hurting anyone. What was I doing? So I find what I'm looking for, and I make the poor choice to get high as a kite. I'm sitting here spun out of my effing mind, and the plug made his advance. I'm so high, I'm just going with it. Then it's over, and I'm left high as a kite realizing that I have to go home now to Sarah.

I cannot. I'm so high you'd peg me from 2,000 yards. And I've now got to come back to reality. I got to go be honest and do the right thing. I just cheated on the person I love, whether I intended to or not. I need to come to terms. But I lie.

I lie through my teeth, give some poorly explained reasoning for my odd behavior, and go crash out over the next few days. We both know something is off. And I utilize my tried and true method of stuffing everything down. And I delete the app, and things are normal.

for a bit. If you've sensed a pattern, you should congratulate yourself. I compartmentalize. I mask. I simply don't acknowledge what is becoming of me. It's not like I do it often, maybe one encounter every six months, but lies are more clever. The crystal dose is getting larger and larger. The infidelity is easier and easier to compartmentalize. I make half-hearted attempts here and there to be better. Tell myself this was definitely the last time. I've even made several poor attempts at getting Sarah to quit me because that would be so much easier than facing the truth.

Which all this ever does is confuse and hurt her. So I backpedal like a coward. I know I have a problem, but I also know I will lose my security. I will lose what makes my house home. I will have to. face the consequences of my actions. I am becoming the worst version of myself. And it's subtle and becoming normal. It's Tuesday, July 21st, 2026. I have scored a bag of crystal

and I'm in a hotel room. She thinks I'm at work. I've been here before. It's mostly about the crystal at this point. The cheating I tell myself. is just about securing the high. Somehow I've remained under the radar, and I'm quite pleased with my elevated state. I catch a look at myself in the mirror, and I'm hit with years of guilt and shame. I'm repulsed by what I see.

A shadow of a person holding a crystal pipe in one hand, a phone with a text from Sarah and the other. It just says, I love you so much. It comes on fast and stays thick in the air. I'm spinning like a top, going over the lies and the guilt and the shame. The shame isn't because of my intimate preferences. The regret isn't the chemical alternate flowing through my system.

I have manufactured these things. The most repulsive thing about me is my willingness to continue to mask into lie. I have spent my life turning myself into a self. selfish and reckless person. I'm abusing Sarah, but I'm ripping the band-aid. I'm going to confront myself and my actions head on. I know that what I'm about to do will be the most difficult thing I have ever done. I know this will hurt so terribly. I know this will lead to work in self-examination that I cannot avoid her mask. I know I will lose Sarah entirely. My life changes tonight. I don't know what the future has in store for me. Whatever it is has to be better than

what I have chosen. I hope that honesty is the catalyst for change. I killed my dad and I don't regret it. I didn't kill him intentionally, although I have wanted to for most of my life. He was a diagnosed narcissist and incapable of caring for anyone besides himself. He beat me and my mom senseless, almost on a daily basis, and actively tortured her. I know because I was the one who was dragged over to her and forced to clean up the mess he made of her and treat her wounds so they would heal. I never stood up for myself because I learned at a young age that it made everything worse. The best I could do was just take it and get it over with until I was 16 anyway.

Then I saw him actively trying to kill my mom and something broke inside my head. I believe I had a stress-induced schizophrenic episode as I heard a voice telling me how he was going to kill her. It told me about everything he had done before and how much of an evil monster he was. I'd experienced an extreme explosion of anger once before this,

and it led to my little sister's death. It exploded on him this time, and I beat him senseless. I felt nothing but the blinding rage of what he was doing to my mom, and whilst I could still see, I was fixated on my mind's eye and the thoughts of every time he hurt her, and I did nothing. I didn't kill him, but I came close. I shattered my own hands to the point my knuckles came through my skin.

But I didn't feel any pain until much later. My knuckles and fingers never healed perfectly. I have full use of them, but they're slightly misshapen. It's only noticeable if you look for it, though. My dad was in a very bad state, but he survived with some scars. I got a slap on the wrist because it was well known that he was abusive, and the police had been called on him multiple times, but charges never stuck because my mom was so afraid of him.

That and he knew how to frame himself to look like the victim, and mom was the abuser. After he got out of the hospital, he immediately kicked me out. I was happy to leave and lost contact with Mom shortly after. He didn't allow her to speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary, and never to me. A few years went by, and I reached out to my mom in secret because my then-girlfriend, now wife, was pregnant with our twins. I was utterly terrified to be a dad because I thought for certain I would end up like him.

She helped me through it, as did my girlfriend, but we had to talk in absolute secrecy, and it was very hard to do. She was absolutely terrified of dad, but was more scared of losing contact with me again. After a few weeks I got a message from her, begging me to pick her up, that he had been found out we'd been meeting and was beyond furious. It took me longer than I would have liked to get there, and I found her beaten so badly I did not recognize her, only her broken jewelry. I honestly thought she was dead.

He attacked me while I was there trying to resuscitate her. He cut my back open. Hell broke loose after that. And I don't remember details. I don't remember a moment where I realized it was him, but I know I knew. When I was very young, I was very obese. And after leaving home, I lost the weight and wanted to keep it off, so I exercised a lot. I didn't look strong at all, but when I flexed my muscles, it was obvious I was extremely strong.

This is only relevant because I did so much internal damage to him with each punch. I caused him a severe brain hemorrhage. split his liver in half, ruptured his kidney, either split or ruptured his bowels. I don't remember which. First one of his eyeballs and shattered the socket.

I only remember him falling off me clearly, shaking and convulsing. It was only after the ambulances came that I even noticed the damage he did to me back, a lot of cuts and shallow stab wounds. The worst one being the one of my side where he left the knife. It was barely even in me, only held in by a flap of skin and flesh, barely even scarred.

He didn't die for a while, but he was left brain dead by the hemorrhage, kept alive by machines until mom could authorize them turned off. They were just buying a little extra time anyway. The damage to his organs was irreparable at his age and lifestyle. I felt and still feel no regret whatsoever that I killed. him, only that he died too quickly. I wanted him to die slowly, very slowly, suffering every moment of his meaningless existence. I wanted to take him and be his carer so I could chain him up in a soundproof shed and force him to only drink his own piss, give him just enough food to stay alive. I wanted him to know the agony he forced on me and mom every M-effing day of our lives. and instead he got the easy way out.

I was given a very minor charge and served no time in prison. The police were already on their way when I got there. I used excessive force, but I was ultimately defending myself. Had to go through psychiatric therapy and testing, but ultimately got off lightly. It could have been a lot worse. That's why I'm posting. Apparently I need to talk about the traumatic events in my life,

and here it's easier. Edit, thank you everyone for the support. I honestly expected nothing or even to be called a liar. Thank you. For those wondering, this was about four and a half years ago. Not long before the pandemic hit the UK. Mom had a stroke because of the injuries dad dealt her and moved in with us while she recovered.

She's looking to move out now. But she's been with us ever since this happened. and it's starting to come out of her shell at least. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One person says, what happened to your sister? And the O.P. response and says, I killed her when I was seven.

I was angry because of the abuse and that she wasn't being abused and lashed out at her. Because of what I did, she ran out into the road and was hit by a car. And someone responds and says, O.P., you didn't kill her. You were a kid yourself. and thank you for protecting your mom from that absolute monster.

And another user says, I understand that you don't feel any remorse. He was a monster and there is one less monster in this world because of you. But I would seek therapy and help because you need to heal from the things he did to you and the things that had happened. I only hope that you were recovered of your wounds. And I wish you a recovery of what you as a person has endured.

Take care of your mom, wife, kids, and yourself, and try to be a good example for your kids of what a good father is. And the O.P. responds and says, I am in therapy. That's why I'm posting this kind of stuff on Reddit. I never talk about it in real life. I physically can't.

I have to write it down in therapy, and this is a part of my treatment. And someone else says, thing you could do saving your mom and yourself stay strong and go ahead with positiveness and optimism and the op he responds and says positivity and optimism are not my strong suits except when i'm with my girls i can't be anything but smiles and happiness when i see their smiling faces as they run up to me and someone else says only those who lived in hell will understand how it makes you capable of incomprehensible things to be alive.

Due to domestic violence, I also became violent. If I hadn't gotten therapy and support, I think I legit would have hurt someone or worse. I don't know how I'm not in jail. At the time, I also surrounded myself with equally insane people who only dragged me down. Thankfully, I had therapy for years, and I have a great partner who never judged me,

always kept me on my path. I became a better man for them. I am no longer a violent person. I learned to control my urges. When I feel jealousy, I don't be my partner like I saw my mom do my whole life. I calm down. Use everything I learned in therapy, and then it's okay. Talking about it is great.

Maybe check out R-slash C-P-T-Sd and other related subs that you may relate to. I find huge comfort in seeing people that got effed over as badly as I did. It makes me feel like I'm not alone, and I'm not a monster. We do what we had to do in order to survive. I understand if people get scared. I used to be scared of me too. Just saying I understand you. It's great that you're working hard for your kids.

And the O.P responds and says, thank you. I have never actually met anyone else who experienced something similar. I'm actually autistic, and I can't feel some emotions because of it. Jealousy being one of them. I'm actually not a violent person. I don't like to hurt anyone. I'd rather be hurt than hurt someone else. But I am extremely protective of those I care about, including my friends.

It's very rare for me to actually have to use any kind of violence. I almost always use my words. I abandoned my baby on Down syndrome diagnosis. I gave birth to my third child. It was a fairly easy labor compared to my earlier two deliveries. I was beaming with happiness at this point as it felt like God was finally allowing me to have a smooth labor experience. Upon initial observation, a doctor came up and said, We noticed your baby has a flat facial feature.

one single line across the palm, low-set ears, and it is very highly likely that your baby has down syndrome. I broke down, and it felt like the world came crashing down, like I was hit by a ton of bricks. My literal worst fear finally came true. Truth be told, I was offered NIPT at week 18. I remembered clearly asking the doctor whether I can have an operation to remove the fetus, if the test came out positive for Down syndrome. To which he said, if it is positive, this will give parents time to prepare for such baby,

but having an operation to remove the fetus is not allowed. I'll let you know that in my country, having an operation to have the fetus removed is only allowed up to 14 weeks unless the fetus is highly defective and is detrimental to mom's health as well. I didn't think much of it. and opted out as it was an expensive test.

I was not in a high-risk group as I am fairly young, under 30, had no problems with my first two pregnancies, and since I will not be able to have an operation to get the fetus removed, what's the point of doing the test? Little did I know, this refusal to go ahead with the test will be the start of deep depression, because on hindsight, I would have been willing to find a doctor, or heck, even go to another country to go through an illegal operation if the test came up positive.

What happened following that dreadful day was brutal. What was supposed to be a memorable day turned to be one of the most excruciating painful day for me. I still remember that first night after receiving the diagnosis. I wanted to run away and leave the baby in the hospital. My marriage to my now ex-husband was already rocky at that point. point of my third pregnancy due to his financial decisions. The diagnosis did not help the situation. Call me an a-hole, but I am very well aware of my limitations in raising a special needs child, and I begged my then-husband to allow me to put this baby for state adoption.

My suggestion was met with harsh criticism by everyone closest to me. I felt trapped. As during the pregnancy, I was told that no operation, is allowed if NIPT test was positive, and now that I have this unexpected birth diagnosis, I was not allowed to put the baby for adoption and forced to care for the baby, although I know I will not be able to. I called up an adoption agency, and they are willing to take in the baby. However, when I suggested this, everyone stated that they are disgusted at my thought. It felt like I had no control over my life's choices. I fell into PPP. and MDD, official diagnosis by a psychiatrist.

I knew I needed help, but those closest to me was not able to provide emotional support as they are more concerned about the baby, which is understandable. The last draw for me was their disrespect towards my request not to tell anyone about this diagnosis. My husband hit me with divorce after delivery, as he can't accept how I was behaving towards the baby. I was made to take the blame for the divorce. Nevertheless, I forced myself to still go to therapy sessions, alone.

What I gained from those sessions were valuable. I am able to understand that what others may easily accept may be the same thing I can never accept. Humans just naturally have different limitations. Having almost no solid emotional support in blame, named for my feelings during postpartum was also a huge part of the trauma and hence why it is so difficult for me to function like a mother should for that particular baby. I decided to rent my own place and bring my two boys along as my ex-H is now unable to provide any financial support

as he has amassed debts from his failed ventures. I was determined to ensure my work will not be affected as I have no one to depend on now, other than myself. For now, all I can do is be the best mother for my two elder children as they are also affected by this unfortunate turn of events. One thing is certain. I don't have love for the baby till this very day, and I have no explanation for that, as this is how my body reacts to the situation. She has just existed for less than two years, and I have spent almost $15,000 for her medical bills alone. This does not include the cost for helpers slash nannies as she is in the hospital full-time.

I had to stop financial assistance, as I am no longer able to take on so many expenses, and I have made it clear that I do not have the resources and now the same people who wanted to keep the baby and rejected the idea of adoption is complaining. about the cost required. It did not help that she is still being held up at the hospital until this very day as she has a chronic condition. Fast forward to today, she requires long-term support and has been hospitalized for a good one and a half years, multiple medical problems

commonly associated with Down syndrome. If it was up to me, I would bring the child home and let nature run its course, rather than giving all these unnecessary medical intervention for a sad quality of life. I never felt any bond with the baby. My body and soul repels the baby. I feel like the worst mother in the world, despite not being able to accept the diagnosis. I did not force myself to visit the baby. After the last visit, I just accepted the fact that I cannot accept the baby, and I finally decided to let go of the idea.

I'm not here to seek validation, but I do need to know whether there has been any cases of mothers acting this way. Mothers are expected to be naturally loving towards her offspring, despite their conditions. I have not seen the baby for the past few months, and I honestly don't feel anything, just random sense of guilt sometimes,

but not enough to make me visit the baby again and overcome my trauma. I know I am not a bad mother-slash person as I love my two other children wholeheartedly. But why do my body chronically repel this baby? Is this a form of chronic postpartum depression? Especially after having three horrific labor experiences? Just felt like I can't take a break

and I just don't have the capacity to deal with having to care for a special needs baby. I know people often paint a positive picture of DS babies being a blessing, lucky few, God's angel of earth, but let's be real. If any one of us were given a choice, we would definitely choose a normal baby,

whatever normal means. As we know at one point, they will be independent and leave the nest. And these kids exist on a spectrum. And I don't have the capacity to wait it out to see that she'll grow into a huge person with the mind and attitude of a perpetual toddler. Even the thought of it makes me anxious and mentally exhausted.

And even more than that, I would not want to impose the care of that child to her siblings as they will have their own life one day. Is it wrong for me to tap out knowingly, really well my limitations? Am I an evil person for feeling this way? My family and relatives are judging me for abandoning the child. I don't blame them. I might feel the same way too

if I was the bystander and not the person going through major life events, but I wish they can try walking a day in my shoe. It's a constant battlefield in my head. Perhaps one day I will be able to

accept. Perhaps. Edit, thank you for all of your replies, be it your kind support or harsh criticism. I accept every single one of them. I was in fact very harsh in my original post, especially in regards to the baby, and I understand how this is not okay

and should not have been done. I should not channel my anger and feelings towards an innocent baby, even if I don't want to take care of her. Once again, thank you, kind strangers. And now let's get into some of the top comments. one person says, I am a special education teacher. No one truly knows what it is like to care for a special needs child. The amount of times they have to have surgery and the long-term medical bills.

Also, the other siblings that have to take a back seat to the child. I do not blame you and wish more people would come forward with their true feelings. I just wrote to tell you that I don't think you're a bad mother at all. and I'm sorry you are going through this. And now let's get into the OPs replied to this, where the O.P. says, thank you for this. PPD is not commonly accepted in my culture as mothers are expected to have natural bond.

I'm not usually a person who runs from life's challenges, but this is the first time I ever felt totally defeated and helpless. I shared my feelings with my family in the hope that they will understand and allow me to process my emotions and weaknesses. I begged for space and time, but that was not allowed to happen. I was asked to get over it,

despite explaining and opening up my emotions, and I think that was where I pushed back even further. From therapy, I learned that there is only so much I can do, and I should prioritize what is within my control, but I still do am unhappy with myself every minute of the day, and looking back at how much my life has turned up, side down in a short span of time, I can't help but wonder how much longer I can hold on. I'm still here today only for my two boys.

They have also been through a lot. I have also never stopped them from visiting the baby. My hope is, of course, one day I can accept this baby. But I cannot deny that it seems a bit far-fetched right now. And another user says, this is a confession. You have been heard. This might not want to be what people want to hear, but it's your truth. As someone who has the same fear, sorry, it's more common than you think,

I can respect your incredibly difficult decision. If ex-husband thinks you're so terrible and wrong, why doesn't he take custody, or any other family members? You posted in a confessions thread, perhaps this is a cathartic way for you to process. You are allowed to vent, especially anonymously on the internet. It's so easy to say what we think we would do in certain situations,

but until you are in it, you never really know. Don't let anyone tell you who you are, find people who value you, and make you feel safe and loved. I'm so proud of you for seeking therapy. I am proud of you for doing the work. One day, at a time. And this is the last post we have ever received.

received from the OP. I paid mobsters to remove someone from my club, and they are making my life hell. Okay, let me start by saying the club technically belongs to my father, and he only stops by once a month and has no idea anything's going on. Secondly, this has been an ongoing problem for almost 18 months, and I really don't know what I can do, but this is all my fault. I used to have a serious problem with people dealing drugs in my place, always in the bathroom or by the service entrance out back.

I could get our bouncers to take care of it, but it got to the point that the gang that was targeting our premises, I figured out they were all connected with each other, would keep coming back with new people to throw us off. It's really difficult to tell who is selling pills, booger sugar, etc., in a crowded place on a Saturday with a lot of foot traffic. Our crowd varies, so I can't just profile people who walk in the door. I was really close to hiring a private security company that sniffs out cheats in Atlantic City, but I can't afford

them. So anyway, for two weeks straight, these guys were turning up selling pills. One of them followed some young girl into the woman's bathroom and attacked her for reasons unknown to myself, and that really set me off. So I reached out to one of my bar staff who put me in touch with these guys, when I met at a Burger King and explained I had drug dealers trying to take my place over and I'd pay them to sort the issue out. I knew they connected all along, but the thing is, in this area, everyone knows a guy who knows a guy that's with the mob. So it's sort of like something you just experience growing up. I have sort of been calling in bets to bookmakers since I was 20 also,

so this would not be my first time I have talked to people like this at all. Moving on. I paid these guys a few hundred to get involved in one night they took care of the drug dealers. I didn't even know what happened. They just came to me and said it was sorted out. Problem solved was the first thing one of them said to me. One of my staff said they roughed up a guy outside, but nothing got out of hand. Great news is the drug dealers actually stayed gone.

Bad news is the mobsters now don't leave. They started showing up more and more. getting free drinks but carried on like they owned the place. Eventually, I went to one of them and said this was not acceptable. I paid them for a job and that didn't mean they could disrespect my place. And they threatened me. Within that year, they started selling pills in the bathroom and when I called them out on it, they threw me up against a wall and said they're going to kill me.

About six months ago, one of them came into my kitchen and sat me down and politely said, I owed them money. I knew exactly what they meant. My dad ran this place for years without having to pay these guys, and now I let them in, and we are paying protection money. He said it dated back to when I first paid them to sort out of the drug dealers, and I simply can't afford it. So they have buried me in interest and will hurt me or one of my staff if I don't keep up.

I have not actually paid for any protection or debt yet. I am still working my way through the interest in paying every Friday. Two of our waitresses were college students, and when they had to quit, I took over their positions without paying myself any extra salary just to cover the difference. And it keeps getting worse and worse. Honestly, I have somewhat gotten used to it now, but these guys are always draining my funds. Another guy who works at my bar says he can get in touch with guys in the city to remove these guys, but honestly, I don't know what else is going to cost me.

There's a new phase causing trouble here almost every weekend. Sometimes you never see the same guy more than three nights before he gets arrested or something. They are now hounding me to start buying and stocking some phony vodka they're pushing. They are insisting I stop carrying Smyranoff, Greguz, etc., and run their brand. It's made somewhere in Connecticut and tastes like any other vodka you've tasted. I'm actually considering it because it will be significantly cheaper and may help me pay off more of the interest and help me get off the debt. I am seriously thinking about just filling empty bottles of gray goose with their stuff, and maybe no one will notice the difference.

Anyway, this is all my fault. I made a serious mistake, and I think my dad knows because I overworked myself to cover staff I never rehired, and honestly, it's weighing on me physically. I'm scared to do anything because these guys have come close to roughing me up in the past, and if I step out of line again, it's going to give me bruises and broken bones on top of the interest I owe. Okay, I'm a little drunk, but I'm going to update this and say that both suggestions of either calling the police or growing balls and taking on the mob myself or both ludicrous, and I cannot even imagine taking those ideas seriously. And now let's get into

some of the top comments. One user says, I think you need to tell your father and then talk to a lawyer. You are in way over your head and need help. Another user says, This is why you never invite a vampire inside your house. And the O.P. Respondent says, As I said, this is all my fault. No one I've dealt with or gambled with in the past was this out of control.

They are controlling my life. I'm sitting alone in the kitchen tonight. I only saw a couple of them today and someone who usually collects my money and no one has bothered me. But they are unpredictable. And I have to be on my toes at all times. This is all a huge mess caused by myself, and there's no way out of it. Everyone keeps saying to sell, but I don't own the clubs. I just manage it.

My dad is visiting clubs elsewhere or doing something in another country. And it's hardly here, but that doesn't mean I can somehow sign the place to someone else. I can't go to the cops. That'll get me injured, and I don't even think it is the right thing to do personally. So I thought about it all day after posting this, and the only way to make this right is to pay someone else to remove them. I cannot afford this long term and it isn't right for my staff

for everyone's saying I don't have the guts to do this well off myself I have fought to make this a safe environment in the past and when you are in a situation where your life is on the line and you have no choice to submit if I could fight these guys I would

the mob is far from dead but these guys are all vicious and desperate I cannot gamble with my livelihood and the livelihood of others And then the OP comes back a few weeks later with an update titled, I am the guy who was being terrorized by the mob. And let's get into it. This reads,

OK, so I took the advice of finally telling my father about what has been going on in the club. I mainly did it because I knew in the back of my head that I had to. I don't want him finding out anything from someone other than me, which he will at some point because a lot of people around here are aware of what is happening. I sat down with my father Tuesday after hours, and we talked about everything until the morning. He is distraught, to say the least, but understanding. In his words, this was all inevitable, but he never prepared properly for it. I completely forgot to mention last time that my dad has a club less than three miles away

that he pays someone else for, and I will get to that in better detail soon, but the club I run was the first he ever bought and has always been clean. He always knew something was wrong here, but trusted me enough to put it aside. Like once he questioned why he had something like 10 water coolers in our storage room, and I was unable to explain they were being held there against my will. Also, a while back we had a break-in. I knew it was orchestrated by the guys that given me trouble now. They tried to make it look like a standard burglary,

but went through my most prized stuff, and when I went through security footage with the police for the insurance, I otherwise 100% recognized one of the guys even in a mask, but I couldn't say anything. I could go through a whole list of suspicious things he has come across, but I don't have time to write it and you don't have time to read it all. The club has an office, but it is never used for anything other than storage because the previous owners bolted the furniture to the ground.

but they have liberated it as their own, and it is always being used to hold their stupid stuff. A lot of the time, it's not even ominous. It's just things like boxes of papers. One time, there was an empty filing cabinet in there. Anyway, my father went to the guys. He currently pays alongside myself, and someone we will call Mr. X,

who is there to make sure we don't get screwed around. I know these guys too. My main book, he is close with them, and I move a lot of money through them. I played football with one of their nephews, and my dad with Mr. X has done some other stuff with him in the past. If anyone asked why I didn't hire these guys over a year ago, it's because I wanted to keep them away from the club at all costs.

My bookie is unaware of my occupation. I have else kept it hidden from these guys in case they end up giving me trouble. To make a long story short, we have agreed to pay them a small combined percentage of both clubs in the area instead of just one, which will allow me to hire new staff and get my finances back in order. They will nullify any interest on false payments also. We are technically paying more together for two clubs, but it's manageable.

They initially wanted more, but Mr. X put a stop to that. We were closed to getting taxed from essentially hiding my club from them this long, but it worked out well. The plan they came up with was to sit down with the existing guys ruining my life, claim my club is their own as we already paid them for another one and run them out so here's where the fun begins i was convinced to attend the meeting between both parties without my father or mr x there's a huge discrepancy in my initial story with you guys basically accusing me of not knowing what i'm doing i grew up around these guys i went to school with them and i've been using their bookies for

over 20 years i know them well i have just not attended it meeting like this, so I was nervous. We met at a restaurant in a mall, and right away, the old crew opened the sit down by suggesting they roughed me up. I was in a bad position because they insinuated I have been profiting off their presence in the meantime, and haven't voiced my displeasure, which unfortunately is true. I have bought jewelry and laptops off them in the past. I also have this truly amazing juicer at home they sold me recently that has been a huge hit with my nieces and nephews. They also helped out a jam when a transgender or whatever came in on ladies night and tried to get a discounted drink.

They're cheap for women before 12 and started flipping out when we refused them. I calmly explained that they were clearly a guy in makeup and a dress trying to swindle cheap drinks. They are for girls, only not guys pretend to be girls. They got really out of hand, but one of these guys stepped in and helped toss them out. They literally got in a brief fist fight with a guy dressed like a woman with makeup on outside. I defended myself by saying that doesn't justify them extorting me, selling drugs in my club, robbing my business when I'm out there, pissing in sinks, stealing alcohol, putting glue in my locks, and many other things I won't mention here.

The new crew shut them up and nullified everything by declaring I was on their territory all along. The rest of the meeting was rocky, but we walked away in a position of power, although I genuinely fear for my safety and will arm myself in the club. My relationship with my father hasn't changed. He is helping me put up some money to get the club organized, and now, as we are pretty much in summer, we can start making some real money again. I'm still ashamed of sparking all of these problems,

but it worked itself out in the end. We're not in a better position, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. We still have our health, our business, and soon we'll be making steady profits minus a bit of a percent, which is more than manageable. Oh, and these guys left a case. of vodka under my bar still debating on giving it back or drinking it ha ha ha ha and now let's get into some of the top comments one user says man i get anxiety when i read the update as well as the other

post a few weeks ago no to drinking the vodka in case they asked for it later hell i'd want to rid any memories of them ever being around i really hope this is the final solution for you keep us updated And the OPE responds and says, Ha, I was joking about drinking the vodka. I'm holding it in storage forever. These are the types to return 10 years from now asking for it back. But thanks for the kind words, and I too hope they're gone for good. Another user says,

Why are you effing around with these guys at all? They will take advantage of you in your club the first chance they get. And if you, for some reason, feel the need to gamble, why use a bookie when you can bet online? And the Opie responds and says, tax, trust, and the fact I do not have to put up any money for a bet. Before anyone jumps on me, I have never been in debt or bet too far above my head without being able to pay it off. I run the club betting pool because my guys don't know how to put money on the streets,

and I refuse to let them bet over their head. And this is the last update we have ever received from the O.P. And man, what a whirlwind of events. I was an adult escort. and no one knows. Hi everybody. I've got to tell somebody this before I go crazy. But before we begin, I know there's a kind of controversy around the world's oldest profession. On one hand, there is being ashamed of intimacy work because it's intimacy work. It can be intense to put it lightly.

On the other hand, as it becomes increasingly more common slash legal around the world, some women are able to work in great environments. and feel proud of it as an honest living. I live in a southern part of the U.S. and feel intense shame about my past. I celebrate my body, but intimacy work was not for me. I resorted to it out of fear and desperation. No one knows. I could lose everything if anyone found out.

I'll get there later. Buckle up, MFers, because I'm about to tell you about my fall from grace. It's going to be a long ride, so. if you're not into delayed gratification, I suggest you skip to the end. I'm young, just turned 20 this year. I'm from a dead end town in the south.

The kind you see on TV. It's filled with soccer moms and minivans and the like. Hardly anyone escapes it. Other girls around here rarely aspire to being anything other than a stay-at-home mom. The churches on every corner don't help. When I graduated high school, I was not in a great place. Outside looking in, I had it all.

I had great grades, an amazing ACT score, a ton of community service hours, and a wealthy family. I was really cute, in an innocent southern bumpkin girl next door sort of way. Behind closed doors, my life was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I lived with an abusive mother who made me live in an unheaval. heated, barely furnished attic for seven years, among other horrible things. She was slash is severely mentally ill. I was her physical, emotional, and spiritual caretaker my entire life. She divorced my father after telling him she re-evaluated her life like she had always planned to,

and he was no longer in the picture. She married this awful man who completely enables her every whim. To be clear, my mother is an unlawful. unimaginably cruel and calculating person, but she is not to blame for my actions. She just tipped the first domino. I decided to leave my city to go to a popular state university. It was supposed to be my escape, but instead it broke whatever fragile sanity my mom had left, and she tightened the leash.

I was 18, turning 19, and lived in a different city. However, I had a curfew and had to ask permission before I went anywhere, even class. This was enforced by a GPS location tracker installed on my phone, which they paid for. I had a car but couldn't leave the city limits without permission. If they found out, I had to mail the keys back home until they saw fit to return them. I wasn't allowed to have a job because my job was scum. school. They had the passwords to my bank account, all my student accounts, my email, and all social media. My roommate was a dear friend of my mother and told her if I did anything wrong or sinful.

For example, when I got a UTI, my mom said it was God's punishment for my boyfriend sleeping over a week or so prior. Long story short, I was a walking panic attack. There was no end to her spine. I finally left her care a semester into school. She began receiving electroshock therapy treatments. Yes, they still do that, Alpleet, more humanly, and got better for a few weeks, before becoming insanely worse. My dad helped me. I opened new private accounts for everything.

The aides at my school locked down all my academic accounts, so she no longer had access. I drove the car over to her house in the middle of the night and left it then. with my wife's clean phone and car keys sitting in the front seat. I never spoke to her again. I was high on freedom. For the first time in my life, I could go anywhere I wanted, do anything I wanted with whomever I wanted. I went to apartment hunting with my dad a few weeks later.

My dad is fairly well off, and we agreed that I would get a part-time job to help. He would cover my rent and I would cover everything else. Gas, groceries, clothes, makeup, medications, utilities, and little school expenses here and there. I ended up setting on a place with a $650 rent payment per month. I could have gotten something cheaper, but my dad insisted I choose the best neighborhood. I was set to move in the following fall and everything began falling apart. My dad, for lack of a better expression, changed his mind. I was going to be on my own financially, mostly.

He said he would help occasionally with gas or groceries, but he wanted me to learn responsibility. I was furious. I had no problem paying for the rent at all, but if I had known that while apartment hunting, I could have picked up a room for like $350 a month. He was the one who insisted that the gated community, fancy place was safer and more worth the investment.

We had already signed the lease and couldn't back out. I went from not being allowed to handle money to being full on alone in a matter of two months. At first, I did okay. I was living at Dad's house over the summer, and I got a great part-time job that paid $10 an hour and waitress occasionally. I saved almost everything I made. On paper, it looked like I'd be able to make it. Things would be tight, but I would make it. When I transferred stores to move back to school in the fall, my hours took a hit, drastically.

I was previously working the part-time maximum, 27 hours a week, in my new college town, saturated with students looking for work, I was lucky to get 13 or 15 hours a week. I had a cushion saved and used that to get by until it ran to. dry. Then I got another job, but with my insane course load that semester, my grades started to plummet. I was so tired. I worked retail, waitress, studied, and slept. My days were easily 16-plus hours long. I eventually had to quit waitressing because I was making next to nothing, and I had to bring up my grades to keep my scholarship. I started looking into other options. My expenses per month far outweighed my standard income, even the bare essentials. That rent payment killed me. I looked for other jobs, but never found anything that might fit my school schedule or first job schedule. I applied for

plenty of other places that promised more hours, but I never got any calls back. Again, lots and lots of students looking for work. Time was running out, and I realized I wasn't going to make rent that month. I hadn't even eaten a decent meal in days. I could not ask my dad for help either. I had no credit and a lot of student loans, most taken out fraudulently by my mom that I'd have to fight later. So small personal loans and credit cards were not an option. Maybe I could have gotten approved for something, but I had no financial knowledge of how it all worked. And since my credit was non-existence, I was screwed. I had no co-signer for a loan. I had no co-signer for a loan. I had no co-signor for a loan. I considered stripping until I realized that in my country slash state, I needed an actual

license to strip, one that would cost me $400 up front. Plus, there weren't any clubs close by. The nearest was a hole in the wall an hour away. I couldn't cam or do anything online because I did not own a laptop. And seemingly, out of nowhere, I saw an ad. It was for a a sugaring website. You know which one. Young girls sign up and rich older men offer to pay them for their time. Were there other options? Maybe, but none so quick and seemingly easy. I tried to think of every possible better avenue before I signed up. Again, a bit of debate. I've heard there are plenty of women who do this, who don't have intimacy with their sponsors. Well, I'm here to tell you that it's BS. Maybe in big.

fancy cities with 70-year-old billionaires trolling for fun. But not in this college town. I had a lot of sponsors. The plan was to find a guy I clicked with, but everyone I met just emotionally wrung me dry. The first said I wasn't pretty enough. The second tried to arward me in the butt in a hotel room. I wasn't experienced and said,

um, that sort of stuff was off the table. But he held me down and told me I'd love it. When I got out, relatively unscathed, he tried to make it okay by offering to PayPal me $100. The third was actually kind of sweet, but unstable. I left when he tried to introduce me to his very young children on the third date. The list goes on. Nine guys total. I made thousands of dollars in a relatively short period of time.

And rent was no longer a concern. I always insisted on barrier method protection and was on hormonal birth control as well. I had regular STD panels, which I provided documentation of if asked. I kept my regular job and stayed in school. Sugarine was a supplement, although I made a lot more than any traditional work. What I made in money I paid for with pieces of myself. It was the saddest I've ever been. I became a really good actress.

I laughed on cue, batted my eyelashes, and tried to make charming conversation. My clients weren't happy either. These men were successful, empty shells. Most were married, some took advantage of me, but others I feel cared for me in some sort of way. I felt guilty about the ones who cared because they repulsed me. I could never shake my childhood Christian guilt. The revulsion really was for myself. After a meat, I would scrub myself for hours and never feel truly clean.

perhaps in a place where people are more open and accepting of that sort of stuff I wouldn't have felt so tarnished. But it is what it is. I ended up ghosting the last guy and started researching how to get out before the business itself consumed me. I started doing some light drugs. Now bleat a lot of them. I was smoking weed every day to feel alive and every night just asleep and was learning quickly. I could not live with myself awake and sober. I felt like I was living a lie.

I ended up moving back home and transferring to a less expensive school as soon as I could. I fell into a deep depression for obvious reasons and had to get better. And healing from my scars would never happen if I kept selling myself. I live with my dad in exchange for doing the housework. We don't talk about the time away at school, but he knows it changed me profoundly. He's apologized a few times and says he feels like

he took the light out of my eyes himself. I used to resent him, but I forgive him and I've told him as much. He couldn't have known and it's not his fault. I will never tell him the truth. Nowadays, I'm in nursing school and I'm in really love with this guy my own age. He doesn't know, and I don't plan on telling him.

Being an escort was never something I wanted to do, enjoyed doing, or even substantially benefited from. My lifestyle was something I resorted to when I had nowhere else to go. I used a fake name, fake accounts, fake everything. As I'm STD free and child free from the experience, I see no reason to hurt him. But really, I'm just selfish and deeply afraid he'll leave me. I mean, I would leave me if I were him. He honestly deserves better. For work, I now teach at a Christian preschool.

Yes, just bask in the irony. A friend of a friend got me the job, and I was raised in church, so I know the lingo. I truly love the kids and try to give them what I never had growing up. It helps. I've gotten the help I need for my childhood and things are looking up. To sum it all up, it wasn't really worth it. it. I'm earning the pieces of myself. I sold back bit by bit, and I try to give the girl in the

mirror a break. Sometimes she smiles at me, and I feel like she means it. If you made it this far, cookie for you, hugs stranger. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One user says, is it something you can put behind you and forget about? If so, do that. And then I'd probably say, don't tell them. If it's something that in any way is going to affect a relationship in the future, then best to tell them now. And if it breaks up, that's too bad. You'll find someone that can handle it. Well done for getting out if this is a real person. And the O.P responds and says, I'm doing better at forgetting. The more distance between that time and now, the better. And thank you. And someone else says, I read the whole thing.

It was not your fault. You were just trying to survive. There's nothing wrong with doing the work you did, but it is good you saw it. It wasn't for you and got out. Internet hugs and hope you feel better soon. You are a tough cookie. I went on vacation to South America

and had intimacy with a police officer to avoid going to jail. I am married and haven't told my husband. I still fantasized. about that night. I went to South America. Not going to say which country, just in case anyone I know finds this and gets suspicious

and finds me out. I went to a sort of beach party situation and the cops came. I was with my two friends. I had no idea where they went, but the cops arrested me. Saying it was for drugs. They also arrested a bunch of other people too.

I didn't really understand what they were arresting me for specifically, like what laws, but I was petrified. I knew there were drugs at the party, bugger sugar and pot. I also saw that they were driving me to a poorer area, and I was afraid I would end up in jail on the bad part of the city.

I tried asking what was going on, but there was a big language barrier, and it sort of seemed like they were trying to ignore me. One of the cops got let out, so it was just me and another cop. I was so scared at this point. I just flat out said I would do anything if he would just drive me home. And I was crying.

Anyways, he ended up knowing more English than he let on before. And he asked what I meant by anything. And I just cried and said anything. Then he parked the car in a secluded area and walked to the back seat and got in. And I right away put my hand on his leg and said that I would do anything. I was in hysterics because I was so scared. I knew what was expected of me in that situation. He told me to calm down and then reached up my skirt. I then ended up doing some things to him, then allowed to have him do intimacy with me. Then he gave me my cell phone back and asked me

to tell him where I was staying at. He also took all of the money out of my wallet, although he didn't even tell me that part. I felt horrible. Absolutely terrible. Absolutely terrible. And I rationalized it to myself over and over again that it wasn't cheating because I had to do it to not go to a terrified prison in a South American slum. But all that above, that isn't the confession. The real confession is, I found him hot. I enjoyed the intimacy to the point where, yeah, basically she just said she really liked it. I would have done it even if he was 300 pounds of fat and ugly and had a micro if it meant a vulner. avoiding jail, but part of me hates myself for how much I enjoyed it. I hate myself or sometimes

fantasizing about him while I have intimacy with my husband, even while I try not to. I then fantasize it about a lot, and I don't like myself because me being forced into a situation where I had to cheat on my husband was probably the best intimacy I ever had. Something about the entire situation just gets me really turned on, just thinking about it at all, gives me this weird sensation. and hatred and despair and aroused. I'm not sure if this is some weird hidden fantasy I have or something, but something about that memory just right away gets me going. The only time it doesn't is when I am on antidepressants,

which I am on right now. I haven't told my husband. I likely never will. I hope I will get over it. I told my one friend about it, and we aren't even friends anymore. more. It's been five years since then. I can't even bear the confidence to tell anyone right now. It feels so shameful. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One person says, this seems to be

much too delicate for me to judge or comment or give advice on. However, there are people trained to listen to stories like this and give advice. They aren't called random strangers on Reddit, but rather called therapists. Go talk about it with a professional. Another user says, I'm going to be honest. When I went to Brazil for my study abroad,

my house parents warned me to not go to the police for anything. White girls are human trafficked so much and often the police are in on it. If someone stole for me, hurt me, or threatened me,

you go to the family. my teachers and fellow students all agreed with the sentiment. Thankfully, I had an amazing time, but things are different there. If I felt like I had to have intimacy to avoid going to jail, I would have. Jails there? You don't get three hots in a cot. I, of course, laid low the whole time and went out with large groups of people. But my advice is, don't judge her for doing something in a scary situation,

unless you have been in that situation. Just don't. I don't condone you not telling your husband and coming clean about it. In a way, this was more SA versus consensual. But what you are feeling cannot be healthy. Please seek help. Mentally, that messed with you. And help is needed.

Best of luck. And another user says, I would definitely talk about this with a professional. However, I am not sure if this is something to be ashamed about at all. You were put in a compromising situation, but the possibility of worse circumstances, jail and possible R-word slash death, if he did not comply. He definitely took advantage of you. Also, the body responds in mysterious ways.

R-word victims sometimes get turned on during R-word, and it can obviously cause a lot of mixed feelings. This is why I really think you should see a therapist who can help you work out these complicated feelings. I also really hope you get tested for STDs and STI's everything. I abused my son physically and emotionally and will never forgive myself. This is in no way meant to justify my actions. However, I hope that maybe this will help me grow. if only a little as a person.

I had a perfect childhood. My parents were amazing people. We had a comfortable lifestyle, and yet I still got into drugs and alcohol. I did booger sugar, age, and later on weed. I drank constantly, and chain smoked like there was no tomorrow.

When I was a teenager, I ran away under the guise of my parents being unfair and met a wonderful man in New Mexico, who I would later have my son with in 1966. I had our son. I wasn't married to the father of my son, and so, in such a year in time, I was able to run away from him

and raise our son with limited money and limited knowledge of how to be a mother. I sold my body and only delved further into the land of drugs and alcoholism. My son was born on drugs and didn't know any different than to watch his mother pass out on the couch unclothed. I had a horribly short temper, and as my son got older,

I began to hit him out of pure frustration. When he was a baby, I neglected him severely, and it was a wonder he survived infancy. Now I would smack him, punch him, kick him, call him names, deprive them of food and water.

My boyfriends did horrendous things to him that cannot be stated here. But you guys can fill in the blanks. My son was scarred physically and emotionally, and it was all my fault. Eventually, his father managed to get custody, which was quite a feat in itself, and took him into the states on a visa. I remained in an unfamiliar place filled with people whose language I could not speak, drifting in and out of prison, drugged up beyond belief. My son got into drugs badly and will forever carry the memories of the abuse and other unspeakable horrors. I tried to get into contact with him and his father back in the 80s, but neither of them reciprocated. My son called me a miserable

B-word and refused to speak with me. His father didn't say much, but didn't want to associate with me, and brought up countless good points regarding myself and my habits. Now, I'm sober after a few months in rehab and married happily. My son appears to be sober and is a semi-successful guitarist who seems to live a happy life. His father is doing well, too. But I will never get rid of the guilt, nor will I ever move on. I hope that sharing this helps me, and maybe Assooges the guilt, if only a little bit. And now let's get into some of the top comments.

One user says, frankly, you do not deserve to be alleviated of this guilt. The abuse which you explicitly described is egregious. And yet there's even more unspeakable things which took place. What you did is incriminating and irredeemable. And you didn't serve time for your actions. Therefore, use this guilt as a form of punishment. and please leave your son alone and let him live the life he always deserved. You don't deserve the privilege of having him in your life.

And someone replies and says, She has forfeited her right to happiness, spoiled rotten and self-absorbed. I hope you don't think this is brave writing about this here. All I see is another attempt to get the attention you so desperately crave. Here's an idea. Stop making your entire life about yourself and go make a difference in people's lives that you haven't yet hurt and driven away. Volunteer. Join the Peace Corps. Get involved in community projects. Literally anything except continue to engage in narcissistic attention seeking behavior. You don't deserve forgiveness and you'll never pay for your dues for the suffering you have caused.

But you can still have a positive impact on others. prove your life still holds value. And someone else says, I absolutely hate making someone associate with something they did in the past, since that would be the most hellish thing

to ever live in. At the same time, though, you abused your child. I lost my childhood with semi-supportive parents who were sometimes emotionally abusive. I cannot even imagine the hell he would grow up in

knowing he was physically and maybe even S-Aid. Nothing can change the past. And there is no way in hell your son will ever forgive you. Honestly, I don't even know what to say. I don't want to hate on you, but God damn, I don't blame the people who do. And another user says,

Jesus Christ people, is this what this subreddit is? A place for people to divulge their deepest, darkened secret? and be told their literal demon spawn? Of course what this person did was disgusting. If it was my kid, I might even go as far as to try and murder her, which by the way does not contradict what I'm about to say. But she is admitted that she's done,

and it looks like she's willing to change. Nobody is required to help her but herself. But if she truly knows that what she's done is amongst the worst things you can do, then I personally wish her all the best, in finding herself and coming to terms with herself and her life. I hope one day you can fully understand what you have done and why, and then eventually forgive yourself.

That doesn't mean your child will ever forgive you. They are their own separate person. I would highly recommend seeing a psychotherapist when you are ready. You'll probably need some external help to get over the traumas you have inflicted onto others, and your own personal suffering. You are a person, and you are allowed to overcome your suffering

just as anybody else is. You just need to atone more than most. Good luck. And another user says, you belong in jail. And finally, someone else says, I do not want to bring you down, but the guilt you will feel

will not go away until the day that you die. The things you did to your child, the person you were supposed to love and care for. I get you were on drugs and alcohol, but that's your fault. He will never be alleviated of the pain and sadness you put him through. So you don't deserve to be alleviated of the guilt of what you have done. I cheated on my fiancé at my bachelor's party, and I don't know how to move forward. I'm writing this using a throwaway account because I don't want to link to my regular account.

I don't even know why I'm writing this. here because everyone is going to say it's rage bait and I'll get banned. I just did the worst thing that I could possibly do and I just want to confess to everyone but I can't. I know for a fact that the most important relationship of my life will be ruined. My fiancé Alex, fake name, male 32 and I, female 28, have been together for four years and we're supposed to get married on the 28th of December. We had our bachelor slash bachelor's at party's last week. weekend because everyone was in town for the holiday. That's why we're having our wedding on the 28th. Everyone will be here anyway for the holiday, so coming to the wedding won't be a big thing.

Alex is everything I want in a man. He's kind, he's funny and charming, he's tall and handsome, he's helpful, he's a leader, he's successful at his work with a great future. He's really thoughtful. One time we were shopping and I looked at this butterfly decoration just in passing and later on I got it for my birthday. He remembered that I liked it and went back and bought it for me and surprised me with it. Our intimacy life is very satisfying to me and I think to him as well. He's not perfect, of course, and we have our disagreements like any other couple, but we are great together. I feel safe and loved with him. When we first got together, the subject of our past partners came up.

I didn't have a lot of past partners as all my relationships were long term. I had three boyfriends before Alex. The previous one was Jake, fake name. Jake was gorgeous. He had a very magnetic personality and always dominated whatever room he walked into. I felt so lucky when he chose me to be his girlfriend. We had a very intense physical connection. that I sort of lost myself in.

In every other way, Jake was terrible. He cheated on me. He stood me up on multiple occasions. He forgot important events like my birthday and my best friend's engagement party. I finally broke up with him. He didn't seem to really care about it though, which hurt. He just ghosted me when I said, enough.

The reason I mentioned this is because I told Alex about Jake. At first, he didn't connect the dots, but when I described Jake, he asked me if it was Jake last name. I said, how do you know? And he told me that Jake had stolen his girlfriend from high school when they were all freshmen in college. It really hurt Alex as he thought he would marry this girl.

Jake later dumped her and she tried to get back with Alex, but Alex rejected her, telling me that she was disgusting. Alex was quiet around me for a few days after that, but he came around thankfully. During my bachelor's party last weekend, one of my bridesmaids, Claire, fake name, invited a bunch of our old friend group to the Airbnb we were renting as a surprise.

I thought they had all moved away, but they showed up, and yes, you guessed it, Jake was there too. I was pretty drunk, but I can't say I didn't know what I was doing. Jake was still really good-looking, and he talked only to me that night. He only flirted with me and no one else. He was charming and my inhibition, were down and we eventually went to a bedroom and we had intimacy.

The next morning, I was mortified. I told Jake that it meant nothing and he needed to leave and not get in contact with me again. Jake told me that he had changed and was a serious person and serious about me. I told him to go and to please just shut up and leave. He seemed sad, but he left. I made sure to make him swear to forget about it all and he did swear. I told him told Claire to keep quiet about it and to not tell anyone about Jake. She was the only one who really knew about our past relationship as she was a part of the friend group. She agreed and said it was no big deal and one last fling before marriage. I think she was the only one who saw us go back to the bedroom, but I can't be sure. All I know is that Jake and I were the least drunk people there

and we were pretty drunk. Meanwhile, it's been eating at me all the time. I can't sleep or eat. I'm afraid my wedding dress will be too big for me because I have this fear in the pit of my stomach and I throw up when I think about Jake and what I did, which is all the time. I think about it all the time. I have to confess to someone, so I think a bunch of internet strangers is the easiest way to do it. I know I'm a terrible, and I know I F this up. I can't lose Alex. Why didn't I think of him when I was there last Sunday? Why didn't I consider Alex? I'm such effing idiot. He's the best thing that ever happened to me, and Jake is the worst. Alex has started to notice my changed attitude. I lied to him again, and told him that I think I'm coming down

with the flu and that he should stay away for a few days. Meanwhile, I'm crying my eyes out in bed, and Alex is being his usual great self and bringing me homemade chicken noodle soup his mom made. I can't tell him, but I can't stand this. Does it go away after time? Feel free to demean me. I deserve it. It's not fake or rage bait. I honestly wish it was.

I wish this was just a nightmare. F my life. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One user says, You should tell Alex so he can find someone worthy of his love and respect and not waste his life on you. You don't love him. Don't lie to yourself or us about this.

Claire is also a shit person. But you two sound like two peas in a pod. Will it go away? For you, probably. Doesn't really sound like you have a conscience for it to bug you long term. Another user says, Seems like you really want Jake.

Considering you typed his name up instead of Alex's when he said, Jake is everything I wanted in a man. And another user says, you don't deserve him. I would say if you love him, you would tell him, but you clearly don't love him, since no sane person would do what you did. Let him live his best life, and that best life should not include you. Another user says, he will find out. More people saw you two idiots, go to that bedroom than you think.

And one of them will tell Alex. And rightfully, they should, because we all know your selfish ass isn't going to do it. and you might get lucky, and Alex might not find out right away, but rest assured he will find out. You get to live every day wondering if he found out you cheated on him. Every single time he comes home or calls he or texts you, you get to think, did he find out? And hopefully, this angst will eat at you for the rest of your days. You have earned it. Alex has a right to know before he marries you because he deserves to make a decision on his future with all of the facts.

If you do not give him that opportunity, you do not love him. I mean, obviously, you do not love him because you got freaky with another guy. And finally, someone says, O.P., you didn't just cheat. You consciously had intimacy with a man. You knew had seduced your fiancé's former girlfriend, someone whom you already knew was a player because he had already played you. Well, now, he screwed you again. in every way.

Not going to lie, that's a hard one to get over. Your only other option is to tell your fiancé everything. Immediately. No minimization. No lies. Give him the empathy and respect you denied him by your betrayal. Give him back the right to choose his own path forward. It's the only way to start to rebuild your own integrity.

Good luck, and I hope you can keep us updated. And the OP does keep us updated with an update five days later titled Alex found out and he is done with me. And this update reads as follows. I wanted to update everyone who read my original post, even though it is humiliating and painful. The truth is out. Alex knows. And the consequences have been worse than I could have imagined. I have no one to blame but myself.

Thursday evening, Alex didn't come home after work. I thought maybe he was staying late. But around 9 p.m. I got a text from him. It was a photo of me and Jake kissing at my bachelorette party. No words, just the photo. I panicked and immediately texted Claire, asking if she told Alex. She replied that he deserved to know the truth. I don't think she did it to be malicious.

maybe she was feeling guilty herself, but at that moment, I was freaking out. I started spamming Alex's phone with calls and texts, begging him to talk to me. He left me on red. Then I logged onto social media and saw that Alex had posted that our wedding was canceled because, quote, the woman I thought I was marrying turned out to be someone I didn't know. People started calling and messaging me, asking what was going on. I didn't know what to say. and I panicked and lied, telling them we had a huge argument, but that we are working it out.

Oh, my God. Meanwhile, Alex was replying to the comments under his post saying things like, she knows what she did, and there's nothing left to say. Friday night, Jake showed up in my apartment. He said he was sorry, claimed he didn't know Alex was my fiancé, and tried to explain himself. I told him it didn't matter. What we did ruined the best thing in my life, and I wanted Jake, gone. I told him to leave and not come back. He tried to linger, saying something about how we could figure this out, but I slammed the door on him. He makes my skin crawl. Then on Saturday morning,

the hammer dropped. Alex's older brother, Mark, showed up with two of Alex's groomsmen. They knocked, came in, and started packing up Alex's things, his clothes, his personal items, even some of the furniture that belonged to him. I tried to talk to them, begging them to tell me where Alex was or how I could reach them. But they just ignored me or told me they didn't know where he was, which was probably a lie. Mark kept repeating that there was nothing to talk about. When they were done, Mark told me that Alex wanted to me to keep the engagement ring. He said Alex didn't want it back because he had no use for it and selling it wouldn't make up for what had happened. He also told me Alex would be sending a check to cover my share of these canceled wedding costs, and that

is half of the lease was paid for. I begged Mark to at least put Alex on the phone with me, and that he deserved some kind of closure by yelling at me, and I would at least be able to apologize where he could hear my voice. He just said Alex was all the closure he needs, and to stop contacting him, and just leave him alone, and I've done enough. Mark used to be so kind me like a big brother. He was excited about the wedding, calling himself the future crazy uncle. Now he was cold and distant, talking like I was a stranger. That was when it really hit me. Alex was gone and my life was gone too. I can't afford to stay in the apartment. Alex paid the rent and utilities while I handled groceries, cooking, and chores. I don't make enough as a personal

trainer to cover everything on my own. And I let my certifications lapse months ago, because we planned on me being a traditional stay-at-home wife and mother after the wedding, which is something I really wanted. I've started packing my things and will be moving back in with my parents. I haven't told them the full story yet, just that the wedding is off. They have been supportive, but I know the full conversation is coming, and it's going to be excruciating. My friends are avoiding me too.

Some have unfollowed me on social media, and Claire hasn't responded to any of my messages, since she told Alex. I don't even know how to begin rebuilding my life from this. I have lost everything that mattered to me because of one selfish, stupid decision. Alex was my rock, my future, and the best thing that ever happened to me. And I threw it all away for nothing. I betrayed him in the worst way possible, and I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. You deserved so much better and I failed you in every way that mattered. I know that when I'm old and gray, even if I find someone else, you will always be in my heart. I love you to the moon and back,

and I don't think I'll ever be able to love anyone else the way I love you. There will always be some part of me that's always yours. Now I have to figure out how to pick up the pieces. My life as I knew it is gone, and I have no one to blame but myself. Stop messaging me. I'm not reading them anyway. I have lost everything. There is no way you can make me feel worse than I already do. I am barely hanging on to the will to live here. I have stage four cancer, and I am terrified. I have a lot to confess, so I'll be as short into the point as I can be. I've been bottling this stuff up for a long time. I guess I should start at the beginning. beginning. In the summer of 2012, I was diagnosed with stage three colon cancer at the age of 21.

On the same day, my girlfriend of seven months left me, which today was my longest relationship. I was devastated. When she broke up with me, I physically felt something happened in my brain. I heard the sound of paper tearing, and I started shaking. But I didn't cry. I started laughing, this high-pitched hysterical laughter that I can only compare to that of Mark Hamil's Joker. The following Monday, I had my colon removed, which sucked. I went emotionally numb. I just turned off, and I can remember very clearly waking up once surrounded by family and friends.

All these good, decent people that loved me. And I thought to myself, I would kill all of you if it meant I would be healthy. And I don't feel guilty over it. Which is wrong. I know it's wrong, but I can't feel bad. So anyway, I did 11 rounds of chemo, and over the months I dated three women,

used all of them for intimacy, and dumped them all in the same day. And I felt no guilt. But while I was on the chemo, I would wake up in the night and see shadowy figures of people. Always just staring at me, and I actively hallucinated on occasion during the day. So, I am pretty sure I was having a mental breakdown, but I never realized it. After I finished my chemo, the first time, I went into remission and gained a new lease on life.

I started school again, got a job, started working, and when I went to the ER for abdominal pain, They found a lymph node with cancer in it. Apparently, the cancer was a resistant strain of cancer and survived. So now I'm on my second session of chemo. Tomorrow I do my fourth round, and then they will run tests to see if this chemo has worked at all. I asked my doctor, what would happen if it didn't work? She refused to speak on the matter. I've done my research.

If the chemo didn't work, they will operate to remove the lymph node, which is behind my liver. And I have become so apathetic towards everything. I stop going to class. I stop going to work. All I do is pursue my hobbies in an attempt to drown my fear with distraction. But the fear sits in my gut every day

and every day is a struggle just to keep my composure. I can't die. My mother wouldn't survive the depression. She has attempted S word in the past. And I can't trust my dad to look after my brother. The only comfort I have is if I die, is that my brother will be taken care of. I have a really large life insurance policy that's left all to him. I can't talk to my friends.

I don't want to look like a coward. Bottom line is that even though I keep calm and put on a brave face, I am terrified. And now let's get into some of the top comments. One user says, I had a life-threatening condition I developed at the age of 21. My odds of survival when I was admitted to the ICU were 10 to 20%. I overcame it and I now live a healthy life. My biggest regret is living in depression and giving up what mattered to me for that time.

I lived in my girlfriend's bed and crippling depression took over, which drove our relationship apart. I wished my condition made me pass away because life was so disappointing. Please listen to me. Don't do what I did. It took so long for my life to get back on track. Do what you love. Don't let this get you down and remember life has plenty to offer.

Embrace life all around you. Now is a great time to become acquainted with the universe. Walk through the park without shoes to feel the grass under your feet. Feel the trees around you. And someone else says, I have no experience that can make me understand what you're going through. but you're not alone. And unfortunately, the O.P has never made a follow-up post

so we can only wish that the O.P. is healthy and doing better now. And this was posted 13 years ago. So who knows what happens is we've never gotten updates, but I really hope that the O.P. is healthy and happy. I seduced and had intimacy with a teacher in senior year and then blackmailed him into giving me good grades. I still feel terrible about this, even though I'm in my late 30s, and it's been so long ago. In high school, especially by senior year, I was sort of the popular goth edgy girl. I tried as hard as I possibly

could to be a sort of 90s Angelina Jolie type girl. I slept around, a lot. I tried to sleep with as many guys as I could my senior year. I was 18 to 19, held back a year. And so I was older and was legally able to sleep with older guys. I had this math teacher who was really hot, handsome, rough face with short curly hair, and a stubble beard. He was new. He was youngish, I think like 28, and he was charming. He would always bike to work after going to the gym and would typically only wear a white t-shirt, which was usually coated in sweat when he got into the classroom. So it stuck to his body, and it was basically see-through on some of the hotter days. I remember all the girls in class would joke around about how you could see his muscles through

his shirt on days when it was hot, and that we all prayed for hot weather just because of that. Right away, I saw him as a sort of goal to get him to sleep with me. I flirted with him a lot, like just bluntly flirted with him. when the class was over, and it was typically only us in the classroom for a bit. He looked awkward as hell when I first flirted with him. He didn't really know what to do. He was constantly looking around to see when the next class was coming in because he didn't want anyone walking in on me flirting with him.

Early on, I kissed him, but he sort of leaned back and rejected it afterwards. I just laughed and kept on flirting with him. Later on, I kissed him again, maybe four weeks after. But this time he was a bit more receptive to it. I asked him if he wanted to meet me by the lake, and he didn't really say anything. He just looked shocked. And I told him where it was and told him to meet me there. He said he knew about the area I was talking about, but he didn't say he was going to go.

He just looked dumbfounded. He didn't show. I waited a whole hour. I asked him again the next class, and we kissed again. and this time he did show. Looking back, I feel awful. I felt predatory, kind of. He was my prey and I was the predator.

He looked like he wanted to have intimacy, but also looked incredibly uncomfortable at the idea of it. We had intimacy in the park, and it was good. Really good, actually. But I felt like he deeply regretted it. I asked him again the next class, if he wanted to do it again. He said he was busy.

and quickly left the classroom. A week later, I saw him in the parking lot and asked if he wanted to meet me back at my house and that my parents weren't home. He came and we had intimacy again, this time in a bed, and he was there for hours. He warmed up and stopped being so uncomfortable at the idea of it. We had intimacy again two days later at my house. Eventually, we stopped, but I still talked to him after class a lot, and I asked, him about my grades and stuff, and I knew I wasn't doing good in the class. I never outright said it,

but I implied that, well, he should give me good grades because I slept with him. The day after, he sort of just straight up told me he can't give me good grades just because we have intimacy. This is the part I regret the most. I told him, because we had intimacy, you have to give me good grades and said he could get in trouble for having intimacy with me. I was implying that I would tell on him if he didn't give me good grades. The worst part is that I tried to make myself seem like some seductrous badass femme fatale girl when in my head I felt horribly insecure and felt terrible for him while I was saying it. He sort of looked at me in horror and I kept up the act. but in my head all I wanted to do is tell him that I didn't mean what I said.

I would never actually told anyone about what we did. I really liked him. He was a nice, charming guy who was sweet and funny and wholesome. He did give me good grades. I got an A-minus. I know I didn't deserve it. I barely even talked to him at all during the class after that. I still think about this all the time and feel so much regret over it.

the way I seduced him and pressured him, the way I basically blackmailed him, the corny way I was trying to act like some femme fatale badass when I told him I was blackmailing him, even though I really liked him. And the intimacy was great. None of it was worth it. It makes me feel horrible all the time.

Nothing bad ended up happening in the end. He would go on to be a professor out of college two years later, and I would go to New York City for college. after taking a year off. And all right, guys, that wraps up the internet's most horrifying confessions. I really hope you enjoyed today's video. If you did, make sure to like the video

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It truly does, me in the world, and this was Snook and I'll see you next time. Bye. Thank you.