We’ve all done some questionable things in our lives. Sometimes, these things are just too embarrassing to tell anyone. Below, Reddit users share the secrets they’re taking with them to the grave.
Two friends and I messing about with aerosol cans started a fire in the woods near our homes. It quickly turned into a disaster. We ran home asap and called the fire department saying we’d “found” a fire. They took quite a while to get it under control. But, it turned out there was a local journalist embedded with the brigade who took our pictures.
We ended up being in the paper the next day under the headline: “Hero Boys Alert Fire Brigade.” We were praised by the headmaster at our next school assembly, and my mom still has the news article mounted in a frame, 30 years on. I haven’t seen those two friends for a few years, but we’re still sworn to secrecy
Seems like a good time as any to tell this story. When I was a teenager, my parents were divorced yet lived within walking distance of each other. I would often times walk back and forth between their homes for whatever reason. I got to know a family that lived in the house on the corner of the block my mother lived on.
One day, as I was passing this house, I noticed a wallet on the ground. I picked up and opened the wallet. I noticed the address on the ID was the house on the corner and it belonged to the mom of the family, a very nice lady. I’m still ashamed of what I did. Being a teenager, I took all of the money out of the wallet (about $50). I then went back to the home and returned the wallet explaining I found it down the street.
The mother was very relieved and grateful. What always weighed on me is what happened a few weeks later. I passed the corner house as I often did, and the lady stopped me. She wanted to thank me for returning the wallet and handed me a $50 bill. I tried to refuse it, but she insisted. I was rewarded for stealing. I’ve never really had the heart to tell anyone this story.
When I was around 10 years old, I decided I wanted the day off school. So, I said to my mom I was having really bad stomach cramps. Because I’d done this a few times before, she didn’t quite believe me, so I exaggerated the pain a lot to make it believable. By the evening, I still didn’t want her to think I had made it up and miraculously got better, so I said the pain was getting worse and worse.
By that point, she phoned my dad explaining that I was in so much pain. He advised phoning an ambulance, as it could be appendicitis. I was in too deep, but it was too late to stop now. I couldn’t go back, as she had already called the ambulance and I knew how much trouble I would get into with my mum and dad.
I was taken to the hospital where they checked me over, but I just kept on feigning the pain. They did observations over the night and into next day and weren’t sure what it could be, They sent me for scans and so on, on my appendix, as that’s what kept being suggested. The scans came back as normal, but whenever I was being checked by the doctor, I would scream in pain.
They then came to the decision that even though my appendix wasn’t inflamed on the scan, they didn’t want to risk it and decided they would operate. I ended up having my appendix out for no reason. I have never admitted to either parent even though it’s going on nearly 20 years now. I’m a bit concerned that the NHS was so quick to operate on something that didn’t even look like a problem.
I also wonder what the surgeon thought when he took it out. As far as I’m aware, nothing was said about my non-inflamed appendix.
I had a sweet, wonderful student who had been in foster care, but his mom worked hard to get him back and she did. He had to take a very important state exam and she called me and asked if he passed it. I looked at the grades and saw he did and said so. She burst into tears of joy, but I had made a terrible mistake. Just as the words left my lips, I saw I had read the wrong score.
He had failed. I should have just told her the truth, but I couldn’t bear it. So, I changed his grade to passing. No one knew. That was the only time I ever did that. It could have cost me my license, but it was worth it. The weird thing is, when my awful corrupt principal pressured me to change other students’ scores so we could raise our pass rate, I refused. I never told anyone what I did for my student.
He went into the Armed Forces, was extremely successful there, and today he has a great wife and kids. So, I think I did the right thing. Forget those tests. They aren’t human.
In the late ‘90s. I was nine years old and wanted to call my friend. My dad was napping on the couch, and my mom was working on the computer in the den. I picked up the phone and heard the dreaded dial-up sound. When I realized what I’d done, my stomach dropped. I suddenly remembered my mom was working on a major project for her job and knew I messed up. I heard my mom shout from the den, while my dad slept through.
Panicking, I left the phone on the table, ran into the backyard, and climbed up the apple tree. My mom came storming into the backyard and asked if I picked up the phone after she had told me dozens of times not to do that when she needed the internet. I asked her how it could have been me when I was up in a tree, clearly far away from the phone.
She gave me that mom stare for a full minute before going inside and ripping my dad a new one. Twenty-five years later, she still sometimes brings up the project my dad almost ruined. Sorry, Dad.
Once, I woke up in the middle of the night, but my wife was not in bed. I called her, but she did not answer, so I got up and went to look for her. I searched the entire second floor, but I didn’t find her. Then, I decided to go down, and for some reason, I was afraid to turn on the light. When I was near the kitchen, I heard quiet strange sounds.
I quietly looked inside—but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. I saw an open refrigerator, and next to it, my wife was eating soup straight from the pan at 3:00 AM and chomping loudly. I crept up behind her and when I was next to her, I whispered, “Dear, do you want me to warm up your soup?” At the same moment, she dropped the pan and splashes of soup flew all over the kitchen. She ran away screaming loudly.
She didn’t talk to me the whole next day. Then, she made me promise not to tell anyone about what happened. I hope she does not read this.
So, my grandfather had a hand in making one of the World Series trophies back in the day. He never got any credit, but we have photos and parts from his prototype. When I was a teen, I added what I knew to the trophy’s Wikipedia page (why not?). A few years later, I got a call from my mom who was almost in tears (of joy). She found that wiki page and was freaking out.
She was so happy he finally got “credit.” She ended up making really fancy shadow boxes of the wiki page printed out, copies of the photos, and other baseball stuff. She made one for each of her siblings. I’ve had to just bite my tongue every time I go over there and see this thing hanging prominently in the living room.
I used to work for the airport and got very discounted fares for friends and family. My mom was going on a trip with her friend to Key West and they were going to drive, since flying was too expensive. I talked her into letting me handle the flying arrangements and they’d save a ton. A typical $500+ flight turned into like $250 for both of them combined.
Well, I was still kinda new at booking reservations and whatnot, and I ended up messing up the reservation. I think I only booked it for one way or something. I panicked—then did the only thing I could think of. The night before their flight, I rebooked it, and paid the $450 for both of them (money I really didn’t have) and have since never told my mom.
It was for Mother’s Day, so I figured that was my gift to her. It’s been nearly 10 years since.
I quit school in the eighth grade. I just stopped going. When it was time to go to school, I just went into the forest, waited there until I knew my parents had gone to work, then I went back in to play with my N64, draw, or whatever I found interesting at the time. I hated everything about school, but especially the other kids.
The teachers didn’t really ask, either (which I was afraid of, of course). They knew I was not well liked I think, and also often bullied by some of the kids. So, I guess they thought it was for the better. This was in the ‘80s, so it was a very different time from now. I never cared telling my parents…I guess I could tell them now, but there’s no reason to either.
Maybe this isn’t a secret because my husband knows, but he’s my best friend and I tell him everything. My grandma called me around my birthday and I hadn’t talked to her in a while, so I was excited to share some recent life updates with her. I was in for a rude awakening. She ended up talking about herself for the entire duration of the phone call.
She spoke about some friend’s experiences (I didn’t know who they were), TV show episodes she’d seen recently, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t know or really care about. She didn’t ask once if there was anything new in my life. I wasn’t at all surprised that this is how the conversation turned out, as this is how they usually went.
I tried to be open and friendly still and show interest in the conversation, but it was really disheartening that she never let me get two words in about what was going on with me. Normal people call each other to find out what’s going on in each other’s lives, right? After over an hour, she said, “Well, I guess it’s late there,” and we said our goodbyes.
She passed away a few months later and that was the last one-on-one conversation I ever had with her. So, here’s the secret. I still haven’t cried over her passing, and I think this last conversation is partially why. I love my grandma and I had so many good memories with her as a child, but it was stuff like this that made me grow apart from her in my adulthood, I guess. Maybe I’ll cry over it one day, but I don’t know.
One time in high school, I took this giant turtle statue from a random yard and put it in my grandma’s yard as a joke. It was around the time the gnome was traveling the world. Well, it turned out that the old lady was my grandma’s frenemy and when she came over and saw her turtle, she wanted answers. Well, my grandma’s answer was, “It just showed up.”
That did not satisfy her frenemy and they got into a huge fight about it. The other old lady died a few years ago…I feel bad I never told her that my grandma didn’t take the turtle—I did.
Procrastination has taken over my life. I have been taking an online course since 2017. Sometimes, I start off on a good note and do my coursework but for the most part, I’ve been failing each and every single time. I have failed this term also. I might get lucky and get financial aid for the next term, but I fear I will do the same thing again.
The worst part is, no one knows why everything is falling apart, and I can’t bring myself to tell them. What is wrong with me?!
I thought I was dying the other day. It might have been a heart attack. I had been neglecting my house. My dishes were beyond disgusting. There was clutter everywhere. I’m not trying to throw a pity party, but my fiancée broke up with me recently and I went through a pretty painful physical situation and was just lazy and depressed.
It occurred to me while I considered calling an ambulance that if I died, someone would have to clean this up. They would associate my passing with this disgusting stuff. Obviously if I did die, someone’s gotta come do something with my stuff. But to add filthy dishes and clutter in, too? That’s not something I want to have anyone connect with me.
I live alone and I am out in the country. I think it would take days before anyone checked. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I cleaned. I hustled and started with the dishes. At one point, I could feel my heart fighting? It’s hard to describe, but something was messed up. So, I scrubbed faster to get it done before I died, really racing the clock. Finish the dishes before you die.
I figured, if I’m found on the kitchen floor with a broken plate around me and gloves on my hands, at least they’ll know I was trying to make it better. Finally finished those and kept going. My heart hurt and I was having trouble breathing and I was really scared. I finished cleaning and was in tears.
I wrote out who should get what, the safe code, and some goodbye messages, and that I just sensed that I was dying. I had made sure to put the cat out so she wouldn’t be trapped inside and have to eat my body to survive. I laid on the kitchen floor so that my rotting body wouldn’t ruin the carpet. And I waited. I finally fell asleep, exhausted.
I’m gonna go get my heart checked soon. I’m only 38, never smoked, but who knows. Stuff happens. But, what I did was stupid. I’m a loved member of my community. I didn’t call an ambulance. I just accepted that I might die and my only problem was that my house was disgusting. That’s messed up and I’m still trying to figure out why I didn’t try to get medical help.
I got a friend of mine fired from a job we both worked for at the time. She is a very touchy individual and would always lean on people, hug them, pinch them, etc. I never liked it. But, since I’m a guy and she’s a girl, I never said anything more than once or twice because the general atmosphere in the US is that female contact can’t be unacceptable.
After about two years of this, a bit of a scandal involving a touchy boss happened and they set up a new system for reporting. It was completely out of the management hierarchy and completely anonymous up until legally required, supposedly. Now, over the years, I’d made a few complaints to her and to our boss but had been told that “she’s just being friendly” and that it’s fine.
When that scandal happened, people at work talked about it and about other employees who were all touchy and I realized that it wasn’t just me that didn’t like her touching me. She did it mostly to guys, and many of them had complained to our boss and had her brush them off, just like me.
So, I used the new system and told them what was going on and my boss’ response to it. Honestly, I didn’t have high hopes of anything happening. I was so wrong. I guess they were still on the edge because someone from corporate showed up and interviewed everyone at the store. The result was that they transferred my boss to another store, and fired my touchy friend.
I can’t ever say anything because we share a number of friends and many of them also think she did nothing wrong.
When I first started college, I got a bunch of money for tuition through financial aid and some grants. I didn’t tell mom exactly how much, but I kept about 5k after everything was paid. She swore that I couldn’t have gotten that amount since there was little left to hand her, but I convinced her. She made a fuss with the office, but she never found out.
I knew how she was with money so I kept it from her and bought my car and other things I needed, like a phone, because I wanted more independence. I didn’t want her paying for anything because she’d always throw it back at me. She’s passed on now, rest her soul. Our relationship wasn’t the best, but there was a lot I couldn’t tell her because of how she was.
I have of lot stuff that will never be spoken of ever, not even in my old age. I strictly believe in keeping secrets.
I spent my twenties climbing mountains. Alpine mountaineering, rock climbing (sport, trad, alpine) and waterfall ice. I got to be pretty good at it, even climbed the biggest mountain in the Canadian Rockies. I don’t like climbing and I didn’t enjoy it. I hated it. I wasn’t reckless, most of the time, but I had three very close calls. One of my best friends’ lives was taken on a mountain.
Growing up, my dad was convinced that I was weak, helpless, and stupid. No matter what I did. He was terrified of “losing me” and thought he was protecting me every time he stopped me from accomplishing something, saying, “You can’t do that, you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll die,” or when he couldn’t stop me, he would say, “I’m surprised you’re alive.”
I’ve never told him (or anyone) that I spent a decade doing something that I hate, trying to prove to him that I’m not what he thinks I am. Or how his attempts to keep me safe drove me to put my life in danger. I don’t think that I ever will.
A friend of mine in college was strapped for cash for groceries one month. There were three of them in the core friend group, and I was just his best friend’s girlfriend. I wasn’t really wealthy either, but I had some extra money to spare from working an IT job at school. So, I withdrew $200, left it in an envelope in his house with his name on it, and let him “discover” it.
To this day he still thinks it was his buddy, Andrew. I never saw fit to correct him. It’s only money, and he needed to eat.
We had a “rose day” every year at middle/high school. You could send other people roses for $5 with a little note or anonymously. For women, it was normal to send each other roses. So, most women were walking around with many roses that day. But, guys only got a rose if they had a GF or were very popular. Then one year, I had a brilliant idea. I sent every guy I appreciated, even myself, a rose, anonymously.
I’ll never forget their smiles. Most of them still remember the one rose they got back in school 10 years later. I’ll take this secret to my grave. It’s probably one of the best things I have done so far in my life and only for about $60.
It was my first day as a nanny looking after a baby girl. I took her to the park and I was taking videos of her and getting her to walk to me. She walked three steps to me and then fell on her butt and cried. She wasn’t sure of foot yet, but she did pretty well. Then, it suddenly occurred to me that I don’t actually know if she has walked with her parents yet. I spoke to her mum later on and she told me she is super close, but hasn’t walked yet.
I figured she must have walked with me because she was feeling clingy without her mum. I never told her parents she walked with me and it was about three weeks later she finally walked for her parents.
I have schizophrenia. An uncle I’ve never met has it too, so I guess it’s hereditary. My doctors don’t know and I’ll never tell them because I’m afraid of being treated like a schizophrenic. I tried to end my life at age 15 and in the aftermath, the hospital made me fill out a bunch of questionnaires. One was a schizophrenia inventory.
I had heard of schizophrenia, but I didn’t know what it was, and I was really surprised to find out that the symptoms they described weren’t normal and that I was answering most of the questions in the affirmative. However, they just ended up diagnosing me with major depressive disorder and never asked me about any of the schizophrenia symptoms.
For years, I thought maybe that meant that the schizophrenia inventory stuff wasn’t a cause for concern, like perhaps those things can happen in an extremely severe case of depression. I now realize that they probably never even looked at it. I have two master’s degrees. I can tell what’s real and what’s not, so I do my best to ignore the hallucinations.
I thought that the way I hear voices in my head was the way everyone’s brain is. Then, I learned that while it’s normal to have an “inner monologue” of your own voice, it’s not normal for there to be other voices that you don’t attribute to yourself butting in. Like, I really thought that that was just how thinking worked.
I turned 40 this year and my wife threw me not one, but two surprise birthday parties. For one, we traveled to see my family and for the other, we spent it with friends where we live. Both times she was so nervous and acting so weird that I knew exactly what was happening. But, I played along because I knew how important it was to her.
I must be a decent actor because she is convinced that she “got me” and tells everyone how well she did. I love her, it’s adorable, and I’ll never take that from her.
As a teen, I had a really bad relationship with my dad. One day, I was really angry at him, so I did the most evil thing I could think of. I signed his e-mail up in any newsletter I could find online. He still gets spam mails and doesn’t know why. For the record, we get along great now.
I failed my driver’s license test due to someone else running a stop sign. But then something crazy happened. I walked into the DMV anyways and the lady did not check my paper saying it was a fail. She gave me my license anyway.
I told my parents I had two stomachs—one for normal food and one for dessert. I explained that that’s why I’m able to eat dessert after dinner and how it’s possible for me to be full but still want ice cream. I told them that all kids have two stomachs and the reason they don’t remember is because you forget when you turn 13.
When I turned 13, I stopped talking about it, and whenever they asked or tried to bring it up i just pretended I didn’t know what they were talking about. Now I’m 23 and absolutely taking this one to the grave. It’s not even that big of a deal (they don’t talk about it anymore), but I still want to commit to it.
The first and only time I stole something in my life was from my neighbor who was having a yard sale to take his kids to Disneyland. He had a DS game of backyard baseball and I had the money for it. It was $5 and I wanted it. I went up with the money and he told me that he was going to give it to the landlord’s kid who was my age too.
I was so mad and annoyed that he was going to get the game for free. A few hours later, I went back outside and I saw he wasn’t there. I walked up to the stand and I saw the game was still there, so I took it. I also grabbed a bag of golf balls he had for $10 and a few more games that were marked $1 each, so he wouldn’t think it was me.
I then ran into my apartment and the guilt was eating me up. Thirty minutes later, he knocked and asked if I took the games because he knew I wanted one. I told him that I was inside the whole time. I never played any of those games. I felt so bad that I couldn’t put in my DS. I even wanted to take them back, but I knew I would get caught.
They did end up going on that trip, and the landlord’s kid was mad he didn’t get his game (I didn’t like him, so I was fine with it). I still have that guilt and I remember the prices of everything and the stand.
For a computer class, I downloaded someone else’s code and turned it in as coursework. It was so good that the tutor was suspicious and asked me to provide some development notes and comments. I panicked, emailed the person whose program it was, and explained. I was so fortunate that he actually sent me several previous versions of his work.
They had fully commented code, bugs so that I could show “my progress,” and even some hand sketches of the interface. He signed it all off with: “Fake it ‘til you make it bro.” I got a near-perfect score for that piece of work.
I used a testing loophole at my university to cheat my way to As in every math class, up to calculus 2 and physics. Basically, I just used Mathway and Numerade for every exam and problem set. For some reason, learning math proficiently takes me two to three times the amount of time it takes a normal person, so this was a necessity just to keep up.
Getting good grades eventually led me to a six-figure job and a comfortable life for my wife and I, so I have no real regrets. Ironically, doing everything this way let me enjoy learning what math can do, how it does it, and when to use it, so I don’t count it as a total learning loss.
When I was younger, there used to be a Blockbuster by my house, and it was about a 30-minute walk. They had an enormous poster of Michael Cera on the window. For some reason, I needed it. At approximately 1:00 AM, when I was sure my parents were asleep, I was fueled with determination and lust for that awkward actor. I ran to that Blockbuster in the middle of night.
I tore that poster off, but unfortunately, I underestimated the size of it. It was taller than I was! But, through sheer determination and willpower, I peeled every bit off that window display. I shuffled back home with an enormous poster of Michael Cera’s face, flapping in the wind, feeling proud, and yet, embarrassed.
When I was 11 years old, my best friend brought one of those invisible ink pens and UV light toys to school. It was in the shape of a dinosaur and the light came out of its mouth. My family always had food to eat, but we were always taught to be good with money (that’s probably partly just because my dad is cheap), so I didn’t get cool toys often.
I also always got the feeling my best friend’s family was pretty well off, and so this one particular toy just made me really jealous. When we were all outside for recess or lunch, I went inside just to go to my bag for some reason. But, while I was in there, I took her pen and dinosaur light and put them in my bag.
She never mentioned it and may have forgotten about it (I’m still friends with her, nearly 20 years later), so I never told her. I also played with it maybe once then never touched it again.
I’m the only person who knows a high school friend of mine is still alive. He faked his death about a decade ago, and called me on the day of his funeral to let me know. Why he chose me I’ll never know. We still talk occasionally. He asks how his family is doing, how his ex-girlfriend is doing, chats about his favorite sports teams etc.
His family still lives in my neighborhood, so I can relay some information, but most of our conversations are brief chats at the grocery store or at our local cafe. I don’t know why he did it and I probably won’t ever know. And, as sad as it is, I won’t tell his family he’s still alive or that he has kids unless he asks me to.
When I was eight years old, my mom decided to take me and my sister on a vacation with our relatives. Because we were not doing that well financially, it was actually my sister and my first vacation ever. My dad couldn’t join because he had to work. On the trip, my relatives were buying their kids all these expensive toys, chocolates, and candies.
I asked my mom if I can also buy a toy and chocolate. I could literally see tears in my mom’s eyes because she didn’t have enough money except for food. Ever since then, I’ve always hated toys and chocolates. Now, I’m earning and my family is settled and to this day, I hate chocolates and toys.
In my first year of high school, we had a substitute teacher who gave us these quiz boxes that you could send anonymous answers to. Then, we did a “get to know the class” opinions quiz. After that, the teacher wanted to be the gossip girl, so he started asking personal questions. One of them was, “Have you ever kissed someone in this class before?”
In primary school, I did kiss someone that went to the same high school as me, so I answered truthfully and wrote yes. She forgot or lied, so I was the only one in the entire class that said yes to kissing another student, in our own class. Cue the following two years, people were still making jokes about someone making love with pictures. I had to awkwardly laugh with them.
This is not a bad secret, but I won’t tell it, especially to my friends. Every year around Christmas time, I would go to Twitter with my second account. In my country, we have a number for people who are poor, but want to get some nice gifts, either for themselves or their kids. I’d look through the tweets of the last few months to verify they can’t afford it.
Then, I’d buy something off their Amazon wishlist. I spent a couple thousand in the last five years. I can’t tell my friends, though, because I helped some of them before we met in real life.
I forgot to return a library book in sixth grade and racked up like $10 in fines. I kept delaying returning it, hoping the fines would go away. By the end of the school year, they told me I wouldn’t get my final report card due to the library fines. But my reaction was kinda unhinged: I was so ashamed that I soaked the book in water and buried it in the backyard like it was a lifeless body.
I figured soaking it in water first would make it decay faster. I then spent the next school day coming up with a plausible story about how I returned it months ago or something. At the end of the day, I went to the librarian to plead my case. She just said, “Oh okay, well if you already returned it, I’ll just remove the fine from your account. Thank you for letting me know.”
I felt a weird mix of relief and shame, but I can still remember the ordeal clearly to this day. And the real kicker is that the book was Fahrenheit 451. Sorry, Bradbury.
When I was about 15, I would have to go to my mom’s office after school to wait for her to finish work. They had a snack cabinet where people could buy snacks. It was an informal setup with just a basket holding cash and a selection of cookies and chips and whatnot. My mom would give me money to get a snack every once in a while.
But, my teenage brain thought it was a good idea to take any bills larger than a dollar because there were IOU notes in there and no one would notice five bucks being gone a few times a week. One time, I went in and the whole cabinet was gone. When I asked about it, she just said that someone had been taking money from it.
My only response was, “Really? Why would adults take money from that?!” Note this was a place where they were making good money, $100k range in a mid-sized town, and I was the only kid coming in regularly. No one ever said anything past that or confronted me. I don’t know if they ever suspected me or not. But, they never mentioned anything.
This was nearly 15 years ago and I still feel bad about it sometimes, but can’t bring myself to say anything to my mom. I’m sorry mom, I ruined your office snack’s cabinet.
I had a cat that got very sick. The vet told me it was some kind of virus that animals can get from eating the poop of other animals. I was to give my cat a pill once a day, but it was just about impossible to get him to swallow. I wrestled with him and tried so hard, but it usually ended with him urinating on me and spitting the pill back out.
He started hiding from me all the time, which was heartbreaking. My cat was sick and getting worse and I couldn’t even pet him or sit next to him because he was scared of me now. I came home and he was in a corner, motionless but eyes open and rapidly breathing. I said his name and touched him, but he was completely unresponsive.
I picked him up and turned his face to mine, but his eyes didn’t move or seem to focus on anything. I thought he must’ve been in shock, or in such terrible pain. I carried him to the bathroom, wrapped him up completely inside a towel and held him there until he stopped breathing. He didn’t struggle at all and it only took a minute, then he was gone.
I felt, and still feel, that I did the right thing for him. But I never told anyone.
I lied about having COVID over Christmas, just to get some time on my own. I love my family and friends but as an extravert, I’ve never had a week just on my own. Did I ever need it! I lied to nearly everyone in my life, but it was wonderful to just have the house to myself for a couple of weeks.
Fifteen years ago, when I was a teenager, I worked at a skating rink as a party host. I would DJ for kids’ birthday parties, lead games, and take out the garbage suspiciously frequently. The party I was hosting was fine, with good decent people. There was nothing to complain about. Sometimes that’s not the case in Texas.
They left after filling out their receipt and leaving the tip section empty. But then fate threw me a curveball. I was angry and cleaning up when I found a birthday card left on the table. It was addressed to Jason from his grandma with $100 inside. I pocketed the money and threw the card in the trash. The family called later that night and asked if we had found it and I said no.
They even came in to look under the tables, but couldn’t find it. I apologized for inadvertently trashing a gift. I was only trying to get the area set up for the next party. They suspiciously accepted my apology and left.
My boyfriend loves Halloween and can’t wait to own a home so he can give candy to trick-or-treaters. But, we live in an apartment and no one goes trick-or-treating in apartment complexes, so he’s never had one. I told a co-worker, and she sent her husband and kids, whom he has never met, to our door on Halloween. He was so excited, and it made his night!
He thinks they were neighbors that saw the orange lights on our balcony that we put up in an attempt to let people know we were giving out candy. He still talks about it and is already planning for this year.
Sometimes, when I see people begging, I buy them for lunch or groceries, or whatever they want. I’m not keeping it secret because it’s a problem, it’s just that I do it when I’m alone and it seems like I’d be bragging if I told anyone I know in real life. I’m awful at keeping secrets normally, so I’m telling the internet.
The beef and broccoli I served my girlfriend the other night was a store-bought, frozen meal that I heated up right before she got home from work. She’s still raving about it.
I couldn’t tie my laces until I was 18. No one on Earth who knows me knows this—and they never will.
I accidentally found out my husband was going to propose to me a few months before it happened, but I’ll never tell him. He’s normally terrible at keeping secrets. I could see how proud of himself he was for managing not to let it slip and how excited he was to surprise me, so I can’t ever ruin that for him.
I was six years old and my father had just bought a nice ham radio set with a new standing microphone. He went to work and accidently left the radio on. I heard a voice over the radio talking about how thirsty they were. I decided to help and poured some of my sister’s water over the microphone. Later, my father can’t for the life of him figure out why his microphone wasn’t working.
He was so upset he trashed the whole thing and hasn’t picked up another hobby since. I still feel guilty about it.
By first grade, I was already aware that I was “the smart kid” in class, and it was something that I took a certain amount of pride in. Except, it changed me. Our teacher occasionally gave pop quizzes in math that were essentially a sheet of 100 basic addition/subtraction problems, which we had five minutes to work on.
At the end of the five minutes, the teacher would say “pencils down,” at which time you were supposed to immediately stand up and place your pencil on the desk and she would come by and collect the papers. One time, I was on the last row of questions when she said “pencils down,” but I was so close! So, I stood with the rest of the class, but didn’t put the pencil down.
Instead, I held onto it and filled in the rest of the questions very surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye, while the teacher walked around collecting papers. The next day, she proudly exclaimed that I was the only one to completely finish my questions and get 100%. The guilt weighed heavy.
There was a mean old man who lived next door to us when we were kids. He was retired. He would yell at us, give us a hard time if our dog barked, and was rude to my mother. So, I decided to get back at him. You know the old ads in the paper where you could order 10 records or tapes from Columbia House for a nickel?
I signed him up for every record club, book club, and special offer I could find. Every subscription card that came out of a magazine, I signed him up. In High School, military recruiters came to talk to us so I signed him up to get notices from them. I enrolled him in everything I came across for years. He got so much mail. I’m sure it was a nightmare for him to straighten all of that out. He never knew it was me, but I knew.
I don’t tell people this, but my cousin is a psychopath. Back story: She worked at a restaurant. When she told me what she did there, my jaw dropped. Apparently, she purposefully tried to find the people lying about food allergies. She did so by putting a little bit of something they were allergic to in their food. Most of the time, she would tell me people would lie just to make sure something wasn’t on their order. But one day, it came back to bite her.
My best friend, who worked with her, told me the story. This family of regulars came in who, no matter what they ordered, would always ask for no onions. The daughter was allergic. The cook was aware of this and would always make sure nothing he used for their food had touched or been anywhere near an onion. Well, my cousin, didn’t believe in the girl’s allergy.
So, she grabbed a little bit of chopped onion and put it in her food and covered it with something so they wouldn’t notice it. It instantly went wrong. Well, the little girl took a bite and immediately couldn’t breathe. The boss called for an ambulance and her dad used the EpiPen, but she still couldn’t breathe well. My cousin found out later that the little girl ended up in the hospital, all due to her putting some onions in her food.
The parents were mad and they demanded the owner pay for her medical bills. Apparently, they wanted to press charges, as well but they didn’t have cameras and no one would own up to who did it. So, my cousin didn’t get in trouble, but karma came for her eventually. After the owner paid, someone told him it was my cousin who did it. He said he wouldn’t report her, but he was keeping her last check due to him paying the medical bills for the girl.
And guess where my cousin is now? Behind bars for attempting to poison her boyfriend!
The last time I spoke with my mother, I didn’t really speak at all. I was 13 years old and had been spending the years at the hospital as she did chemotherapy, radiation, laser surgery, and so on, to fight her spreading lymphoma. I was a stupid kid and was frustrated with having to be at the hospital every day after school.
We were in the hospital room, and I was annoyed that I couldn’t be at home in my room calling my friends or whatever it was that I was concerned with. When we were eventually leaving that day, I was a giant jerk and wouldn’t give her a hug. I just said something like, “I just wanna go home.” I’ve regretted those words ever since. The next day, she was in a coma.
She never recovered from it. And the last time I got to hug her, her body was cold and was no longer alive. That will haunt me until the day I die.
When I came back from my third deployment to Iraq in 2007, I wasn’t me. I’m barely me now. I felt like I was alone, and that I had nobody with me (even though I had a wife and kids and family back home who always cared about me). I felt really numb and had no one to talk to or anyone I wanted to talk to. It drove me to do something I’ll always regret. I needed to feel, so I went to massage parlors and met random women off Craigslist.
It even went as far as doing something every Friday to try and feel something. It didn’t work. So, I bought a $1,400 bulldog, RIP Semper, and a nice truck I couldn’t afford. I was constantly spending money to feel better, but I still felt empty. Here I am 15 years later and barely feel. My kids help, but I feel I’ve messed them up too much to actually connect to them.
Sometimes, I feel like getting in the car and driving somewhere far away, but that would hurt my family financially. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t make it back, so they could have taken the life insurance and had a decent life. I hope someday I can get somewhat back to normal.
I lit a firework in a public park and panicked so I flushed it down the toilet. Boom! No more toilet. Whoops. I was 12.