Everyone has secrets—but some secrets are much darker than others. For these Redditors, these particular anecdotes are pulled from deep within, and in most cases, were never meant to see the light of day. From taking revenge on enemies to catching people in the most compromising situations imaginable, these confessions are absolutely chilling.
When I was in high school a friend confided in me that they had problems with cutting. They showed me recent marks and we had a long talk. I went to the counselor of the school and told them a couple of days later. I was a teen. I struggled with the choice, but ultimately the fear of losing my friend won. My friend ended up in a mental facility for a month and came back, absolutely baffled as to who ratted him out.
Decided it was probably a different friend. But the secret goes even deeper than that...I ended up marrying him—and he still doesn’t know.
Everyone around me already knows that I was brought up by foster families because I had a bad early childhood. I deliberately keep it vague and say stuff like "I'd rather not go into it" so that people will just assume I was abused in some way and they'll stop asking about it.
The truth is that for the first seven years of my life, I was brought up as a girl by my psycho birth mother who really wanted a daughter and didn't let the snag of giving birth to a boy stop her from trying to raise one. She was a pretty successful professional in a constitutional field and had me via an anonymous sperm donor from a fertility clinic.
She found out I was a boy at a late ultrasound and then moved across the country. She gave birth to me at home and continued to move about until I was five or so. It was just the two of us all my life. We had contact with other people, of course, but they rarely got very close. I had lots of friends but was always supervised.
I found out way after that my mother's strong puritanical Christianity was a lie she used to explain why she was so strict about me being private and never letting anyone see me get changed or anything. I just accepted all of this as fact, having never been told anything different. I was sent to a religious school for girls and had a really great childhood.
I was a bit of a tomboy and played with lego and toy animals, rather than dolls and stuff, but that's not unusual and no one ever questioned if I was a girl, even me. I knew about men and women but had never really seen many naked people. My mother never ever spoke to me about it, but I kinda had the impression that when I grew up and got breasts and stuff, my dick would kinda fall off or something.
I would be a woman and other kids would keep their dicks and they would be men. I dunno, to be honest, I never really thought about it. Anyway, I carried on with my happy girlhood and had a bunch of friends and everything was great until one fateful day changed everything. I was seven years old and a teacher accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee over me at school.
The liquid soaked through my clothes and was scalding me so the staff immediately stripped me out of my dress and underwear to get the hot coffee away from my skin. And then they found out. The authorities were called and I got taken to speak with Social Services. They asked me a bunch of questions about life at home and stuff.
Meanwhile, my mother was taken in for questioning too. She refused to acknowledge me as a male and insisted that I was her daughter. Because she was, you know, delusional and stuff, I wasn't allowed to go back home but got put with a foster family and went through loads of therapy and stuff. The worst part was that literally overnight, I lost everything.
My mother, my home, all my toys, and all my clothes. I moved schools so I lost all my friends, they cut all my hair off and told me I wasn't a girl anymore. It was really traumatic. The first foster home wasn't that great. They had three boys already and going from a sheltered 'religious', only-child upbringing to a rough-and-tumble testosterone-filled environment was really difficult.
They tried to force me to be masculine and I was just too confused about what they wanted. Anything 'girly' was reprimanded and I felt so lost and alone because nothing I did was right. This all led me straight to a breaking point, and I tried to commit suicide when I was 11 years old and again at 13 because I didn't feel like I fit in anywhere. After the second attempt, they moved me to a different foster family who was awesome.
I consider them to be my parents. They actually stood up for me and the first thing was that they let me grow my hair. From when I got taken into care, they buzzed my hair short and I hated it. They always had to hold me down and do it forcibly while I was crying and fighting. My new parents flatly refused to do it and said that loads of boys had long hair.
They also let me quit karate and football and take up swimming and jazz dance. Since I'd been in care, no one had ever stood up for my right to choose what activities to do, or how to dress before. It was amazing. In the end, I came out of it with a pretty healthy gender identity. I went through school and got my degree and have a pretty good job and an amazing, supportive wife.
Everything looks great. But I can never speak about my early childhood and how I grew up as a little girl.
I used to work in a shopping center. One time as I was walking into the building I sneezed and totally pooped myself. I was about 10 steps away from the shop so I had to think fast. I took a hard left turn and walked directly into a department store. I only had $5 on me so I beelined for the underpants section and got the cheapest pair I could find.
I then had to go to the center toilets and sort everything out. It was a real mess. I texted my boss and told them that I was stuck in traffic, but in reality, I was 100 meters away, trying to salvage any shred of dignity I could for the next 20 minutes. I'm happy to say the mission was a success and that day is now the benchmark by which all other days are measured.
Every day since has been infinitely better.
As a kid, I grew up in a small country community of 3000 people, where I went to school, etc. I had a crush on a girl who was two years older than me all the way through high school, that is until the most messed-up thing happened. When I was 16, I found out she was my half-sister as my dad had cheated on my mum. This only came out when she turned 18 and found out who her dad was.
Prior to that, no one knew and my dad and her mum had kept it a secret for 18 years. This completely threw me for a loop when I realized that I'd had a crush on my half-sister for a number of years.
When I was in 6th grade our math teacher had a contest where teams of two could spend a week guessing how many jelly beans were in this large container and whatever team got the closest would win all the jelly beans. Kids would be up there trying to individually count the jelly beans before class and walking around it all day sizing it up.
Somehow the teacher let it slip that the amount was written on a piece of paper under the screw on the lid of the container. So I concocted a plan. I told this kid Nate that I would split my share of jelly beans with him if he did the following: When we were walking down to lunch, he had to tell the teacher he forgot his lunch box and run back to the classroom to get it.
While he was there he would open the container and see what the number was, then he would fill out a form with me and my partner’s name on it. I told him it couldn’t be him because then the teacher would be suspicious of him being the one alone in the classroom. I also told him not to put the exact number because that would be fishy so it has to be off by just a few.
Needless to say, I won the jelly beans at the end of the week. When it came time to pay up with Nate, I gave him one handful of jelly beans and that was it. He got really upset and said that wasn’t fair and I basically told him, “What are you going to do about it?'' and ate 300 jelly beans over the course of the next 3 days. I promise I’m not as much of an asshole as I sound like in 6th grade. I just really like sugar.
I’ve only ever told my wife this story and I feel like she doesn’t trust me anymore after hearing it.
Around ten years ago, when I was a teenager, my dad got a gaming laptop which was worth around three thousand dollars at that time as a gift. He didn’t have a real use for it so he gave it to me as I used to play World of Warcraft back then. He was very adamant about telling me to not put any liquids on my desk next to it as I’m very clumsy.
So one night, I made myself a huge bowl of cornflakes and put the bowl next to the laptop because I forgot my spoon in the kitchen. I sometimes put a blanket over myself when I was gaming and when I got up from the chair that night, disaster struck. I somehow managed to flip the bowl over with my blanket and the milk flooded on the open laptop.
I got incredibly scared, turned the laptop off and cleaned it like my life depended on it, and went to bed. I obviously broke the laptop as I didn’t get it to turn on anymore, but I was too scared to tell my dad what happened especially since he repeatedly told me to be careful. I told him how I didn’t have any idea what happened and how it worked perfectly fine on the night before.
I still feel incredibly bad about it.
Fifteen years ago, my sister had a gerbil and one day I decided to bring it out of her cage and surprise her in the living room with it. Somehow I slipped on the carpet and the gerbil went flying headfirst into the wall. It basically sounded like I threw a golf ball at the wall and the gerbil wasn't moving. Naturally, I put it back in its cage and removed myself from the vicinity...Then a miracle happened.
To my amazement, the thing was still alive and moving around a few minutes later and lived another 2 years without anyone ever knowing that I basically Kobe'd it into the wall at full speed.
I was really turned on, but my family was around, so my solution was to go take a shower and choke the chicken in there. At the time, I didn’t have a phone case on my phone since my previous one broke. I was getting pretty close standing in the shower so I went to set my phone in the basket on top of the toilet where my wallet and stuff was, but instead, I accidentally dropped my phone on the tile floor and the screen completely shattered.
I immediately realized I couldn’t easily explain this to my dad so my solution was to finish my shower and get dressed, then go to the basement stairs, slip down the stairs, get scratched up, and let my phone fall. I then went upstairs with my bleeding knee and broken phone and said I fell down the stairs, and that it broke my phone.
I immediately got sympathy from my family and didn’t get in trouble. Nobody knows that I threw myself down the stairs and didn’t just slip. I realize now that I probably could have just said I fell, but at the time I felt I had to actually do it.
When I was about eight or nine, the girl next door, who was two years older than me, would always take me upstairs to teach me about adult education. She once convinced me to be naked with her in bed. Obviously nothing happened because we were young and I wasn’t old enough to understand or have feelings of that nature. But that wasn't the most uncomfortable part.
While she was lying on top of me, I remember thinking it was weird. Looking back, there was something shifty going on. She would regularly wave to me from her bedroom window whilst I was in my bedroom. She would be on her windowsill naked and I was oblivious. Never told anyone about it. It was a bit of a case of one of those events that just pass kids by.
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When I was eight years old, we had pet mice. This one mouse got pregnant and she was starting to eat some of her babies. This upset me so much. I rushed to tell my stepfather. I was so distraught and mad at the momma mouse. Why was she eating her young? What a bad mom! And my stepfather's reaction? He made me exterminate the mom. Literally.
He put her in a sink full of water and literally dragged me in there, grabbed my hand, and forced me to hold this mouse underwater. It was the most traumatizing moment of my life. I was struggling and crying the whole time to take my hand away. But that wasn't even the worst part...He then took the rest of the baby mice that had lived and he fed them to this fish he had.
I'm not sure I remember the name. I think he called it an oscar fish, but maybe that was his name for it. I was so young. He was a very abusive and deranged guy. My mom finally left him after he beat her within an inch of her life. I've never told anyone that story. I'm too ashamed. I know I was a kid and I'm clear that he forced me but it still doesn't take the pain and shame away.
My dad was single and a couple of my friends' moms were always bringing us food. My dad would say they were just being nice cause he was a single guy raising three kids by himself. My aunt picked me up from school one day and we headed home. She must have known what was up and had me wait in the car. Both of my friends' moms came out half-dressed with my aunt yelling at my dad.
I never told anyone out of fear. One of the moms was divorced but the other wasn't and I was afraid of tearing their family apart. Will take that one to my grave.
I resent my seven-year-old stepson and feel like he ruined my life. I waited a long time to get married and my husband is my dream man but his son has severe behavior problems. He lives with us the majority of the time. His mom is in and out of his life and when she is around, she really messes with his head. I try to be understanding and loving but I am only human and I'm exhausted.
He destroys everything in sight when he doesn't get his way—smashes toys and rips curtains off his wall and digs holes in his walls with his scissors. But that's just the tip of the iceberg. Every time I try to decorate the house and try to make things look nice, he ruins the things I bought. I bought him new pajamas the other day and paid way more than I normally would because he loved them and really wanted them.
Within an hour of them being delivered, they had three massive holes through them and he thought it was funny. He laughs when I get hurt. The dog jumped on me and I hit my head on a table and he laughed hysterically. When his dad tried to correct him and tell him it's not ok to laugh at people when they are hurt, he said he didn't care. And it doesn't end there.
He almost slaughtered our dog while I was in the shower so now I can't leave her alone with him. I took him to visit my family and he hurt their family pet and we haven't been invited back since. He says cruel hurtful things to me and his dad constantly, and when we tried to talk to him about it, his response was downright chilling...He said enjoyed hurting people.
He has no empathy, he is always angry, he lies about everything, he is manipulative and very falsely charming around people who don't know him well. Every time I see a story on the news about a kid assassinating their parents, I wonder if that is my future. I had to quit my job that I loved to be here full time to care for him because no one wants to babysit him.
We have him in counseling. We have talked to his doctor. It's not getting better and it seems to be getting worse. I had a total mental breakdown several months ago and seriously considered suicide. I am now on anti-depressants and anxiety medication. I go to counseling regularly and am doing everything I can to keep myself sane but most days I don't want to get out of bed.
I always feel like my chest is going to explode. I'm overwhelmed, exhausted and I don't see any hope of it getting better. I'm open with people around me that things are hard, but I feel like if I admit that I resent him and that it is getting harder to love him then I will be viewed as a bad stepmom. So I keep going. I do my best to correct the bad behavior.
I shower him in praise when he does something good. I love him when it's hard and hope that I can make a difference. But, I cannot shake the resentment when I've given up everything and there is nothing left of the person I was before I got married.
When I was about six or seven years old, I was outside playing with my sister and family friends late at night in my Pa's country town. The parents were inside the fence and couldn't really see where we were, but there were a few of us together so I guess it seemed safe enough. Two men approached us from the local bar or whatever and picked me out.
One asked if I knew what a blow job was. I didn't; I was very young and naive so he asked if I wanted to come with them to find out and have some fun. I honestly almost went with him because I was curious and it was just before my parents' divorce so I suspect some sad things had been happening in my life. I don't recall much at all from my childhood at all but this night sticks out for some reason.
Thank God I had some sense to tell them I wanted to ask my parents first because they lost their nerve after that and left. That wasn't the last time something like that almost happened before I was the age of nine.
When I was 13, a nefarious kid in the neighborhood was a shoplifter, and I had just started to smoke. A new gas station just opened up and back in the day they left cartons of rolls out in the open. This kid would swipe cartons. So I asked him to swipe a carton for me. He said he would, but asked me what I would trade for it.
He wanted my Gameboy, but I said I'd give him something better. What I did next still haunts me to this day. I snatched one of my mom's rings. So I go to my mom's room, open her jewelry box and bust out a single diamond ring and give it to this asshole and he gives me a carton of cigs. To this day, I keep telling myself it was costume jewelry to make myself feel better, but I honestly don't know. I'm sorry mom.
During my freshman year in high school, I was drinking a red Gatorade at lunch. This girl said that I was sitting in her seat. I hurried and swiped my drink to find another seat. I didn't realize my Gatorade lid wasn't tightened and the drink basically splashed all over her white pants. I scurried off pretending I basically just didn't mess up this girl's pants with red Gatorade.
A few weeks later my friend invited me over to play some league at his house. His sister came home and I realized that she was the girl I spilled my drink on. I was pooping my pants at that very moment. But luckily she seemed to have not remembered my face because she did not mention it. My friend and I still talk to this day and I have never told this to him or his sister.
I sometimes feel like she pretends to not remember and is actually plotting something for all these years.
When I was a little kid, my paternal grandmother had two dogs, Tessa, a little ditsy Maltese, and Bindi, a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Tessa was too stupid to even realize that being mean was an option, so we always played with her when we visited my grandmother. But Bindi was always locked away in the other half of the house. When asked about her, my mother would bristle and say, "Bindi doesn't like kids".
My mother had her reasons to be very fearful of dogs like Bindi as she had to put down her first dogs when I was born because they were seriously aggressive towards me. Like they would launch themselves at the window if they saw me. The house operated under an airlock system for the first year and a half of my life; always two doors between me and the dogs.
After a while, my grandmother moved into the house directly behind ours and we put a gate between our shared fence. Suddenly Bindi was accessible. We kept a respectful and fearful distance from her. For the most part. One day I was in my garden playing with my very patient Labrador KD and we were playing circus. This dog was amazing.
There wasn't a single thing you could do to him to make him mad except being a horse as he hated horses. Bindi wandered into the yard and was watching us, so in a burst of foolishness, I ran towards her to try and involve her in the game. She panicked and bit me. Not hard like I didn't bleed or anything but I had some indents on my arm from her teeth and it did bruise a little.
I panicked and cried and sulked in my cubby house until I calmed down enough to go inside. I knew I couldn't tell my mother because I would get in so much trouble for playing with Bindi. The next day I was in the garden with KD and Bindi was there too but I ignored her. I studiously ignored her for weeks. She would come up and I would walk away.
Then some switch flicked. She was my adoring dog now. Everywhere I went she followed. This dog adored me. We would curl up on the sofa together and I couldn't go a single step without her at my side. I think she must have felt so guilty about that bite. She was my sweet dog and we were best friends for four more years until she passed.
My parents always remarked on this miraculous change in attitude from Bindi. How an old ornery dog who hated everyone was suddenly an oversized lapdog. Even years after she passed they would marvel about it. I didn't tell my mother until I was well into my twenties that the reason Bindi liked me was because she'd bitten me.
I was walking my dog on a dirt road next to my subdivision. This dirt road ran parallel to several backyards and had lots of trees on either side for concealment. For me, it was an unofficial nature trail because it allowed me to get away from people. One morning I spotted two of my neighbors, who were married to other people, making out and obviously about to do the deed.
Since they were so into each other they didn't hear me coming up till my dog started making noise. For several seconds, we all looked at each other without saying anything until the couple took off running in the direction of their respective backyards. We all knew each other but I wasn't friends with the two nor their spouses.
Long story short, I kept my mouth shut about what I saw and neither of the lovebirds ever said anything to me. Have no idea if this had been a one-time thing or a long-term affair.
I lost a baby at 24 weeks. She was a premature baby. She lived for four hours and twenty-one minutes. She was all planned and wanted but I'm glad she didn't live because if she did, I might have to live a life alongside her father who used to beat me. She would’ve been ten now. And I wonder if my life would be so much more different if she lived.
And how hard my life would have been if the father stayed in my life too. There was a major earthquake that occured, and at that time the initial impact of said earthquake thrust me in the air, making me land on my belly. I broke my water too soon at just shy of twenty-one weeks and a few weeks later I gave birth. Her passing is one of great pain to me. But now, I am thankful for it.
I'm a terrible person because I'm thankful. It's not something I would admit to anyone I know in person. That's my secret and dirty shame.
When I was 14 or 15, I would listen to music and just imagine I was a character in one of the shows I would watch like Teen Titans, Totally Spies, or Hamtaro. The day I tried to listen to music and imagine like this stupid crossover between them and jump around my room, my brother had actually heard my jumping around from previous days and hid in my closet.
He observed all the stupid stuff I did and the mixture of shows combined because I would whisper quips from the characters. When I discovered him, I instantly reacted by trying to choke the living daylights out of him. But instead of being scared, he just laughed his butt off the entire time! Only he and I ever knew and I’ve been embarrassed by it ever since it happened.
I visited my mother’s hometown in Mexico during the summer with her and my younger sister. This was the week after the plane crash in Durango happened and we were heading there for a bit so I got super anxious and it kept me up a couple of days after we got there along with the time difference. We stayed at our great uncle’s house and I was sleeping on the futon on the ground while my sister and mom shared the bed.
My anxiety and difficulty adjusting to the time difference meant that I was up pretty late at night. I was just on my phone playing some mobile games when I heard a shot. I live in a dangerous neighborhood back home so I was used to hearing this kind of stuff. Then two more shots. This time it was closer. No one else woke up and I was just lying there thinking someone must be wasted and I should try to get some sleep because it could also be a hallucination.
The next morning, my mom asked me if I was up last night. When I told her that I was, she asked if I'd heard anything. I let her know that I heard some gunshots but I didn’t think about it much. Her face went pale. Apparently, the neighbor two houses down had shot his wife the night I was up. It was a small town so everyone knew and he was quickly put behind bars. She had been shot at least twice.
I asked if anyone else was hurt last night, but she told me that it was just the woman who was shot. The town was close to the city and they were strict about their weapon control. So I should be happy that I know about what caused those two loud shots, right? Well, I think a lot about that first shot. The man was the only one reported shooting that night.
The first shot to my knowledge was more likely from a handgun. Who was that first person? Did the wife conceal her own weapon and shoot in self defense? Was it an intoxicated guy like I initially thought it was? Did someone else pass away that night but no one else knew about it? I think I was the only one who heard that first shot since everyone else was only talking about those two loud ones.
I tried asking to see if they heard anything else but they didn’t. Everyone knows each other like family in this town so surely they knew who did what. But even they didn’t know that the neighbor was capable of doing this. I’m not sure I want to know who fired that first shot.
About a week before I graduated high school my family had a massive house fire. We lived out in the country and no one was home so, by the time anyone noticed the house was on fire it was way too far gone. Thirty feet long flames above the roof. We lost everything else in the fire but had insurance and no one got hurt.
I was in a chemistry class at the time that had 70% of the grade centered around a lab notebook that was graded all at once at the end of the semester. You would do labs every week, and then do lab write-ups in the notebook. I had been slacking off and was way behind on the assignment and would have had to pull a few all-nighters just to turn something in.
The day after the fire, I went into class and told my teacher a massive lie—that the notebook had gone up in the fire and that I had no idea how I would ever turn the assignment in. He was extremely nice about it, told me not to worry, and gave me 100% on the whole assignment. He just said that I had bigger things to worry about and was about to graduate and that he hoped my family was doing ok.
Well, the notebook was in my car the entire time. I immediately threw it away and swore myself to secrecy.
When I was about seven years old my dad took me to Blockbuster and I really had to pee. Blockbuster didn’t have a restroom, and in a moment of utter panic, I did the most embarrassing thing imaginable: I peed in one of the aisles. I’m pretty sure the cameras saw me, but thankfully, there was no one near me. Taking that one to my grave.
I peed in my dad's bottle of Bacardi. He drank from it every night and was a raging alcoholic when I was younger. Anytime he acted like an asshole, I'd have this small sense of satisfaction in the back of my mind that no matter what he said or did, he drank my pee. It's the best secret I have, and the best decision I ever made.
My mum does not like that I’m on medication to control my anxiety. She claims that it’s bad for my health and that it will cause more problems down the road. Whenever she brings it up I just tell her that the doctor wanted me to take them, and that I didn’t just walk into the doctors and be like, “I want to be on medication”.
While that is true, it’s not the whole truth. I have a history of suffering from panic attacks that lead to self harm and suicidal tendencies. The reason I’m on medication is to help control them and give me less incentive to hurt myself. She doesn’t know, and I have no plans on telling anyone in my family. This is a secret I will take to my grave.
During Christmas last year, my mother got completely wasted. She had already prepared a lot of food but there was still food being made. My mom and I only have each other so it was just me and her. She had made a big thing of pork and asked if I would like to try it. I said yes, but she was so intoxicated that she couldn't even cut a piece off.
I was just 17 at the time and had little experience with drinking, so I didn't know how badly she was inebriated. Twenty minutes later she was trying to take the pork out of the oven and dropped it all on the floor. All the oil spilled out to coat the kitchen floor as well. So as she tried to clumsily recover the pork, she slipped and hit her head on the floor.
She wasn't knocked unconscious but she was dazed and confused. I had to clean up the food off the ground, clean the oil off my mother and carry her to bed. I then spent the rest of the night cleaning the kitchen and driving around my town looking for a place to eat on Christmas. I didn't find anything and had to go back home without eating anything.
When I was nine, my dad and I were reading Reader's Digest and found a magazine subscription card for a free case of Depends adult diapers. That's when we came up with a genius practical joke. We wrote my uncle's name and address down and put it in the mailbox. He got it a couple of weeks later and called everyone in the family to find out who it was.
We knew my uncle was fuming, so we kept it to ourselves. To this day, everyone suspects that it was my other uncle.
About 20 years ago I worked for a big publisher. They were upgrading all their tech and just dumping it in a skip. I asked a security guy if I could take some stuff from the skip and he said to help myself as it was all going to get crushed anyway. During a night shift, I filled up my car with beige G3/Quadra Apple Macs, keyboards, mice, and some 19” Formic screens.
Some of the Macs had QuarkXPress and Photoshop on them. I cleaned them up and sold the entire lot. I made enough to buy a G4 Quicksilver of my own which I still have today. I didn’t tell my co-workers, ex-wife, managers, or anyone else.
My mom left me to be homeless while I was still in high school. She wanted to move out of state with her abusive new husband. When I finally got back in touch with them three years later, they gifted me one of his prized possessions—a car. It was kind of an olive branch? The problem was, as a 20 year old with a minimum wage job living in DC, I couldn’t afford to plate it, inspect it, get insurance, gas, or taxes on it.
Literally nothing. Still full of hatred for this man, I spitefully sold it to a coworker friend whose big family desperately needed it. I sold it for probably 10% of what it was worth, and told my stepdad and mother that I got in an accident and it cost $400 to tow and my insurance only covered this. This is my biggest secret. It’s been 11 years now.
I can't exactly remember how old I was. It was the dial-up internet era. I'm now 29 years old. But back then we received a phone call and I answered it. But a man called and explained to me that my dad had an affair with his wife. I hung up and never told anyone except my therapist like a year ago. It hasn't bothered me much to be honest, but it was a weird experience.
When i was in 4th grade, I put mustard in one of my friend's burger because he had told me that he hated mustard. Turns out he was actually allergic. He didn't come to school for three days and I was scared that I made him really sick and finished him. To this date no one knows that I was the true culprit, and I'm hoping it stays that way.
I was in high school and had problems talking to people. I was known as the shy kid. I found out my cousin went to the same school and saw that he was in the same boat. He was a lot more social and a lot more funny but he didn't click with people, just me. We became best friends and had a blast at lunch every day. One day a girl invited me to go eat sushi and I was stoked.
I had plans with my cousin, like a tradition you may say, and I did something that I regret to this day...I just bailed on him. I was like, "Yo, this really cute girl asked me to eat sushi with her." And although he was upset, he was like, "Cool, have fun". Well, when it was time to go eat, I went with the girl and some people told her they were going to go eat at some other place and they only had room for one more in their car.
The girl without hesitating said "yes" and just got in and left me behind. I was scared to walk through the hallways as I was scared to run into my cousin. I didn't have the guts to tell him what just happened. I passed by the library and saw him there, sitting alone, passing time. Broke my heart that I left him. Never happening again. Bros before everything.
I once punched a special needs kid in the face while I was in the school bathroom. Hear me out, I was peeing and he came up behind me and put his hands around my neck. He wasn’t choking me, but he did have a firm grip. I zipped up and slugged him hard. He ran out crying down the hall to his classroom and I just went back to mine.
Two days in a row, when I was in the second grade, I peed my pants because the teacher had this policy where she wouldn't let any student go to the bathroom even during free time in class. By the third time, I had spent a solid 10 minutes begging her before she finally said fine but I peed my pants on the way to the bathroom.
My family only knows of the one time but I had to deal with that humiliation two times before and it was within the first week at school. After that, I had a water bottle that I would relieve myself in during her class for the remainder of the year. I know she thought that letting kids go to the washroom was like giving them an opportunity to goof off. But seriously, I had no friends. There was zero chance of any shenanigans going down.
If I had the opportunity to go back in time, I would have advised myself to pee on her desk because that would have been less humiliating than pissing my pants three days in a row.
One Christmas when I was 9 years old, I knew that Santa wasn't real, but for my seven-year-old brother, the fantasy was very much alive and good. We shared a room and my brother woke up on Christmas morning and looked confused that Santa had not eaten the Kit Kat that had been left out. He went quiet and I could see that he was working the facts through in his head.
When he wasn't looking I ate the Kit Kat and showed him the wrapper and claimed that he imagined seeing the wrapper unopened. This was 26 years ago and I have not yet told him in case he works out that Santa is not real.
When I was in elementary school I once lost something so I asked to go to the lost and found. In the lost and found room, which was a big storage closet, they also stored soft drinks for the pop machines. I took one. Then, probably 3-4 times a week, I would “remember” that I had lost something else and go grab another coke. I don’t know how long I did this for, but I got a lot of free coke.
When I was 8, I spent most Saturdays with my grandma and we would watch the same VHS of Moonstruck every week. I never told her how much I hated that movie. We would watch it and then eat ice cream afterward and put on Saturday Night Live. Opera man era, I would give anything to watch Moonstruck again with my grandma.
When I was in fourth grade, I forgot to submit my homework to the teacher and she forgot to ask. The next time when I had to submit my homework to her, I got really scared. I was afraid she would find out that there's no teacher's signature on the previous assignment. So, when my parents were sleeping, I took the notebook and made tick marks on all the pages I forgot to submit and I also signed it by copying her signature and dated it according to the previous week's date.
She didn't suspect a thing, and to this day, I haven't told anyone this.
I was fourteen years old. I wanted to clean the poop, which I had accidentally stepped on, out of my shoe and accidentally smeared it all over the second floor of the school. The school bathroom, where I tried to wash my shoe, was also stained with poop and grass. I just smeared that stink everywhere. Oh, those high school years! No one knew it was me.
I was abused by my friend when I was 11 years old and he was 12 years old. He made me suck his dick. I won't ever be open to talk about this with anyone and wasn’t aware at the time about what was happening. He said it’s normal and I think he is bisexual or gay now. I'm a straight male and I just feel like I could never ever say this straight to anyone.
This year I sent an extra-large toilet paper roll holder to my friend's house as a joke. They still don’t know it was me and I’ve never laughed so hard in my life when he called the whole friend group asking who did it. I put the name on it as “Mr. Poopee Buhole.”
It's my fault that pogs, cards, and other collectibles are forbidden in my old school. When I was eleven years old, I was the perfect kid. Smart, the best grades, and the teacher's pet. But I was an ugly, 'masculine' girl so I got bullied a lot. One day I decided I was done and went about finding my own sense of justice: I swiped more than three hundred pokemon pogs from the kid who bullied me.
I told a teacher I needed to go to the toilet to puke, then I sneaked inside of our class during recess, hid the large bag in the back of a cupboard, then walked out and played with some friends to have an alibi. Each backpack was searched that day and we were collectively and individually interrogated before we went home.
I waited an entire month before retrieving the bag of pogs and slowly started selling the pogs to my classmates, including the guy who bullied me. No one but me ever knew what happened to the bag. It was such a scandal in my school that more than ten years later, kids cannot bring them to school or they'll get confiscated.
I didn't know my best friend's name for almost ten years. She goes by Katie almost exclusively and got it in my head early on that it was short for Katelyn. Imagine my surprise when I heard her being referred to as 'Kathryn' at our convocation. No right way to bring that one up in a conversation.
To this day, I still don’t know how to ride a bicycle.
I put boogers on my little brother’s wall by his bed for years. He got in so much trouble.
In pre-school, a parent brought in fruit roll-ups for the entire class and they mysteriously went missing while the class was in the gym. I ate like a king after bedtime and had the best week of my life.
When my siblings and I were on family vacation around 10 years ago, I put a firecracker in the toilet and it shattered. I blamed it on the family friend who came along that year. It was me.
I speak two languages. So every time I received a new essay I would browse the topic in my own language and translate the text word-by-word to English then submit it. No one has ever caught me for plagiarism before.
As a teen, I stayed the night at my best friend's house and slept in their guest room. I was woken about 2 am to the sound of her older brother arriving home intoxicated from a party. He saw me in the guest room and leaned against the doorway to say "Hi." He then stumbled down the hallway to his bedroom but never turned the hallway light off, and it made it difficult for me to get back to sleep.
So after about ten to fifteen minutes I got up and walked down the end of the hallway to the light switch. I turned it off and started walking back to my room when I briefly glanced into his bedroom as I walked past...I couldn't believe my eyes. His door was wide open and he was sitting at his computer with his back facing me. He was naked from the waist down, masturbating to what looked like a transgender adult film.
I must have made a noise because he swung around and saw me staring. Then I immediately and swiftly returned to bed and lay in the dark not able to get the image out of my mind. Five minutes later I heard him creeping down the hallway. I was like, "Oh God, here we go.” He looked so sheepish and uncomfortable. He stood in the doorway and apologized for what I'd seen and begged me not to tell my friend, his little sister.
I swore I'd never tell them and told him it's fine and to go back to bed. To this day they wonder why he hasn't got a girlfriend and they think perhaps he has a crush on me because he acts weird around me!
I had been at my first job in high school for a couple of years. Some new kid came in and told a bunch of lies to the owner about stuff I had apparently “done at work.” I wasn’t questioned, just let go immediately. I was so angry, I immediately started plotting my revenge. On the kid’s next shift my best friend and I went and placed large nails up against all of his tires so when he drove forward they would go right into his tires.
I heard he had to replace all four. That was 20 years ago and I still have to side-eye when I see him around town.
I lived with my aunt in 4th grade and she had a neighbor that lived downstairs so they had a shared backyard. The rule was to always make sure the latch is closed on the gate so the dog doesn’t get out. I always made sure to lock it. One day I forgot. The dog got out and was eaten up by my neighbor's massive dog. I blamed it on the neighbor.
She cussed him out and would badmouth him any chance she could. I was too scared to tell her and she still doesn’t know.
During the summers when I was growing up, my parents would often leave my brother and me with our aunt and uncle who lived out in the country. It was great as they had four sons of ages close to ours so we had a lot of fun doing kids' stuff. One summer when I was eight years old, my oldest cousin was maybe 16. We somehow got talking and he asked me if I wanted to sleep in his room that night. Bad idea.
He has the nicest room and bed so I was all for it. I got into bed and he asked if he could touch my dick. I was young and just thought it was okay, so I let him. He rubs it for a bit and then asks me to do the same to him. So I do. This progresses and eventually, I'm sucking him off. I think I knew this was wrong so I said I didn't want to carry on.
We stop and I go to sleep quite confused. I wake up the next morning and he hands me some money and tells me to never tell anyone about what happened. The next night he tries to do the same thing. Now all I cared about was the money. So I do it. But that wasn't even the worst part...This carried on for two summers. Eventually, I got old enough to realize it was quite wrong regardless of the money and stopped.
I've never told anyone about this. He is now married and has two kids. I'm also married and we see them sometimes at family events. I don't have the balls to even try and talk to him about it. I'm not even sure what I would say to him.
My mom never told me how her best friend died. Years later, I was using her phone when I made an utterly chilling discovery.
Madame de Pompadour was the alluring chief mistress of King Louis XV, but few people know her dark history—or the chilling secret shared by her and Louis.
I tried to get my ex-wife served with divorce papers. I knew that she was going to take it badly, but I had no idea about the insane lengths she would go to just to get revenge and mess with my life.
Catherine of Aragon is now infamous as King Henry VIII’s rejected queen—but few people know her even darker history.
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