We all harbor secrets, some embarrassing yet manageable, while others are so profound they could shatter lives if exposed. These clandestine revelations redefine the concept of “burying a secret.” From illicit affairs within families to fabricating chronic illnesses or even igniting fires resulting in property destruction, the spectrum of these narratives is vast.
These confessions, unearthed on the internet, bear immense weight, threatening not only the secret bearers but also those in their orbit. They represent a Pandora’s box of human frailty and deception, showcasing the depths to which individuals may descend in their quest to conceal their truths. Each disclosure is a testament to the fragility of human morality and the perilous consequences of veiled truths being brought to light.
A keepsake cherished by a mother for eternity
As my daughter approaches her fifth birthday, the weight of a secret threatens to unravel the delicate fabric of our lives. Born from a tumultuous past spent in foster care, I found solace in a relationship during my senior year with an older man, unaware of the intricate web of our shared lineage. It wasn’t until a casual conversation about our biological roots revealed a shocking truth: he is my half-brother, our kinship hidden in the shadows of our past.
Despite our bond dissolving and his absence in our daughter’s life, we made a solemn vow to shield her from this painful reality. I watch her grow, marveling at her brilliance and innocence, knowing that the truth could irrevocably alter her perception of the world. Yet, beneath the surface lies the ever-present fear that unforeseen circumstances may one day force our hand, leaving us to confront the consequences of our silence.
He didn’t merit evading the consequences
Some time ago, I engaged in an extramarital affair with a coworker, driven by fleeting desires and a lack of regard for the woman involved. Despite my attempts to sever the relationship upon realizing the gravity of my actions, she became increasingly erratic and threatened to expose our affair to my wife, who was pregnant with our second child.
Amidst her turmoil, a tragic twist of fate occurred: she was struck and killed by a drunk driver while in a state of distress. Concealing my infidelity, my family unknowingly attended her funeral, unaware of the tangled web of deceit surrounding her untimely demise. Though spared from the immediate repercussions of my actions, the weight of guilt and the specter of betrayal haunt me, a sobering reminder of the irrevocable consequences of my choices.
Interfering with my brother’s romantic partner
This is a tale of tangled emotions and difficult choices that have haunted me for years. It all began when I left my hometown at 18, seeking independence and adventure. In California, I found both opportunity and love with a woman named May. Our relationship was intense and fulfilling, but eventually, we drifted apart.Years later, fate brought me back to my hometown for my brother’s wedding, only to discover that May was now his fiancée. Despite the awkwardness, May and I found ourselves drawn to each other once more, leading to a night of passion fueled by old memories and unresolved feelings.
In the aftermath, guilt and uncertainty overwhelmed me as May revealed she was carrying my child. Faced with the prospect of shattering my brother’s happiness, we made the agonizing decision to keep the truth hidden, allowing him to believe he was the father.As time passed, the weight of our secret grew heavier, yet the bond between my brother and May seemed stronger than ever. With the child’s first birthday approaching, I find myself torn between the desire for honesty and the need to protect the fragile peace we’ve built. It’s a complex web of emotions, where the line between right and wrong blurs, leaving me grappling with the consequences of our actions and the uncertain future ahead.
Caught in the Shadows: Embracing the Role of the Antagonist
When I was about five years old and my sister was around two, we were playing in the backyard in a kiddie pool. While my mom briefly went inside, I attempted to drown my sister. Seeing her lifeless, I realized my mistake, pulled her out, and called for my mom. Thankfully, she knew CPR, and my sister was airlifted to the hospital.
My mom thanked me for saving my sister and pulling her out of the pool. The following week, on my birthday, police, firefighters, and paramedics came to our house to give me gifts and celebrate since I was deemed a hero. Even twenty years later, I still vividly recall that day. But not a soul knows the real truth.
Mastering the Art of Feigning Illness
For five years, I pretended to suffer from a chronic pain condition to avoid attending middle and high school. Placed on a homebound program, I studied at my own pace from home. I deceived medical professionals, family, teachers, and friends into believing my symptoms were genuine.
The charade accumulated over $100,000 in medical bills for my family, a realization that contributed to my decision to stop. Upon graduating high school and gaining admission to a university, I chose to end the deception. Remarkably, my symptoms disappeared overnight, with my medical team attributing it to nearing the end of puberty. No one questioned the sudden vanishing of my pain.
The Silent Confession
When I was younger and exploring my sexuality, I would finish in a sock and then wash and quickly dry it. To keep it hidden, I placed it inside our gas heater unit. One day, the sock caught fire, causing the unit to explode and set our house ablaze. Only my brother was home, and while he survived, our house did not.
We spent five years living in caravan parks, waiting for confirmation that the fire wasn’t arson to receive an insurance payout. Eventually, the payout came through, and we managed to gather enough money to start rebuilding the house. The reconstruction is ongoing, and I feel deep shame whenever I visit my parents, who still live in a tiny mobile home where our backyard once was.
Discovering My True Self
I’m currently a senior in high school. Back in my sophomore year, I decided to come out as gay to all my close female friends. This revelation brought us incredibly close, leading to situations where we shared beds, changed clothes together, and even showered together on one occasion. However, the reality is that I’m not actually gay. I fabricated the story solely to see them undress and be in more intimate situations with them.
As time went on, the guilt began to weigh heavily on me, but I couldn’t risk losing their trust and friendship. If my friends ever discovered the truth, they would undoubtedly shun me for life, and the thought of that terrifies me. I’ve created a web of deceit that I now have to maintain, constantly fearing the moment when everything could unravel. This secret haunts me every day, and I can’t help but feel ashamed of my actions.
Ending Mom’s Pain
My mother has multiple sclerosis, and her health has rapidly declined since my birth. She went from walking to needing a cane, then a walker, and now she’s completely bedridden. She suffers from an untreatable urinary tract infection and is in constant physical and emotional pain. Her medications include prescriptions for depression, bipolar disorder, and sleeping pills.
Throughout my childhood, she attempted to end her life three times to escape the pain. One night, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I bought something from a dealer and secretly gave it to my mother. She passed away within two hours. My father, sisters, and brother have no idea what really happened.
Taking Matters Into My Own Hands
There was a girl I had a crush on from the moment I saw her on my college campus. Unfortunately, she started dating a terrible guy a few weeks later. One day, I ended up in a study room with him and some mutual friends, where he openly talked about how he didn’t find her that attractive and preferred other girls.I decided to take action. Using an anonymous email service, I sent her a message detailing what I’d heard and warning her about him.
Shortly after, she discovered he was cheating and broke up with him.Now, she’s been my girlfriend for five years. She has no idea about the email. We live together in a big city, sharing a wonderful life and many passions, often finishing each other’s sentences. This experience reinforced my belief in the ‘Just Do It’ mindset, and it has profoundly shaped our happy relationship.
The Blame Is Mine
When I was about 12, I went to Family Dollar with my family. While my mother and cousins looked at groceries, I wandered to the toy aisle where kids often left marbles lying around. Being mischievous, I flung some marbles across the floor. A few minutes later, I heard a loud crash and someone yelling for help. Curious, I ran over and saw a man on the floor, seizing with blood coming from his head and his face turning blue.
My mother quickly took me and my cousins away. On our next visit to Family Dollar, the cashier told us that the man had died. He had a seizure and choked on his own tongue. The fall happened because his ladder had slipped on a marble. Realizing the marble was likely mine, I was in shock, fearing I’d go to jail. Despite my attempts to confess to my mother, she insisted I had imagined it.
A Flawed Plan with Unexpected Benefits
When my half-sister was growing up, she despised her stepdad (my real dad). Despite his quirks and occasional meanness towards my mom’s other kids, I thought he was great. They get along fine now, but back then, he followed a strict morning routine: getting the paper, making freshly squeezed orange juice for everyone except my half-sister (16), and then going through his bathroom rituals before breakfast.
My sister, longing for that orange juice, sought revenge in small, petty ways. She’d take long showers to make him late and leave spiteful messages like “I loathe you” on the bathroom mirror. Eventually, she escalated her antics. One morning, after he made the juice and went to the bathroom, she snuck out, drank half of his glass, filled the rest with her pee, and put it back in place, relishing her act of rebellion.
The Origin of the Doctor Game
My father always had boys, while my mother longed for a daughter. When I was 6, they adopted a girl my age. She quickly became part of the family, and I especially grew close to her. By age 9, we started playing ‘doctor,’ which evolved into fooling around during our early teens and became more serious later on.
Now, we’re both over 30 and still engage in intimate activities whenever we see each other. We even pretend to be twins during these moments. Despite having our own relationships over the years, we’ve never stopped. She’s married now, but we still meet up about twice a month, and more often during family gatherings.I can’t imagine the fallout if anyone found out. There were a few close calls when we were younger, but no one has ever suspected anything.
Feigning Her Demise
My best friend and former fiancée supposedly “took her own life.” However, I have undeniable proof that she faked her death and is now living with a wealthy 50-year-old man, even though she’s only 21. She didn’t even leave the city, and I personally know both of them. Everyone else believes she passed away; there’s even a tombstone with her name on it.
I have no idea whose body is actually buried there, but it’s definitely not hers. It’s surreal and disconcerting knowing the truth while everyone else mourns her loss. The community still holds vigils and shares memories, completely unaware of the deceit. I grapple with whether to expose her secret or let her live her new life, but the weight of this knowledge is a constant burden.
His Perfect Escape
Two and a half years ago, facing dire financial straits, I sold my home to save my struggling business. However, I didn’t disclose to the new owners the existence of an 800-square-foot bunker on the property, which I had built seven years prior. Since selling the house, I’ve been living in that bunker.
The entrance is well-hidden, allowing me to come and go unnoticed, usually very early or very late in the day. As a single man who keeps to himself, I’ve managed to live undetected. Now, I’m in a position where I could afford to move elsewhere, but I’ve grown incredibly fond of this hidden paradise. Despite my improved situation, the bunker remains my cherished retreat, and I’m reluctant to leave it behind.
If Only I Hadn’t Lost Consciousness
My Great Uncle Jack lived with my family, and one day he got extremely drunk and had a severe fall, leading to heavy bleeding. I found him shortly after (I was 14 then, and had never seen anything so horrific) and passed out from the shock of seeing so much blood.
When I came to, I called an ambulance and stayed by his side.He died in the back of the ambulance, holding my hand. No one knows that I lost consciousness, and if they did, they’d realize I’m the reason he’s gone. If only I hadn’t passed out, things might have been different.
Earning Money for Doing Absolutely Nothing
I earn a six-figure salary working a standard 40-hour week at a major, well-known company. However, I actually only do about an hour of real work each week; the rest of my time is spent on Reddit or YouTube. When I first got this job, I assumed someone would eventually notice my lack of productivity.
Yet, here I am, 14 years later, still doing almost nothing and getting paid handsomely for it. It’s surprising how long this has gone on, and I continue to enjoy the benefits of a high-paying job with minimal effort. It’s almost surreal to think I’ve managed to maintain this routine for so long without anyone catching on.
I Attempted to Poison My Mother
When I was about 13, I tried to harm my mother, though I wasn’t aiming to poison her, just to blind her. My mother was a heavy drinker, and living with her was tough. In science class, we learned about different types of alcohols, and our teacher emphasized which ones were safe to drink. He warned us that isopropyl alcohol could cause blindness or even death.
After getting grounded for a month over a minor mistake with the dishes, I decided to act. One evening, after she passed out around 8:30, I poured about two cups of isopropyl alcohol into her nearly-full gallon of liquor. I waited anxiously, but nothing seemed to happen. She remained alive, and her vision wasn’t affected. In hindsight, I dodged a bullet, as I can’t imagine the consequences if I had succeeded.A few months later, she attempted suicide, and I went to live with my dad. My life has significantly improved since then.
Fabricating a Diploma
Three years ago, my parents believed I was attending a local community college while living at home. In truth, after being forced to leave NC State University due to financial issues, I lost interest in college. Instead, I spent my days at home, sleeping and playing on my computer with friends late into the night. When my parents stayed home, I pretended to go to school, but I would actually find a shady parking lot and sleep in my car all day. It was incredibly uncomfortable, especially with the extreme summer heat and winter cold.
One particularly harsh winter day, I had to walk three miles in the snow, wind, and freezing temperatures after having my mom drop me off at the college. Maintaining this facade was exhausting, but I felt trapped by their expectations and my own lack of direction.
Final Farewell
When I was 17, I had a heated argument with my father and told him to get lost. That evening, he ended his own life. Our argument was the last interaction he had with anyone in our family, and the guilt I feel is overwhelming. Instead of saying goodbye and expressing love to my mom and brothers, his final words were met with anger from me.
The burden of this guilt is something I carry every day, knowing that my harsh words were part of his last moments. He didn’t leave a note, which makes it even harder to find closure. My punishment is to live with the shame and remorse of that day for the rest of my life, knowing I can never take back what I said or change the outcome.
Turning the Tables on the Bullies
In my junior year of high school, I took an Advanced Placement Sculpture class that most seniors saw as an easy blowoff. Being one of the few juniors, I became a target for bullying. The teasing escalated from name-calling to ruining my projects and destroying my clay.After a semester of torment, I decided to fight back. Our teacher allowed independent work, so I began secretly destroying my bullies’ projects before they were graded.
By the end of the second semester, I had ruined about 80% of their work.Two weeks before the school year ended, the teacher held conferences with the seniors. They failed the class, missed graduation, and had to attend a “bad kids” school, losing sports scholarships and college acceptances. I have no regrets. Tommy, Dave, Mick, Trent, Harry, Steve, Aaron—if you’re reading this, I hope your lives are miserable.
I Totally Destroyed Her Life
My boyfriend cheated on me, and the girl he cheated with bragged about it to everyone in our small town, humiliating me. In retaliation, I created a fake Facebook account, posing as a boy, and added her. Over eight months, I became her confidante, learning all her secrets. Eventually, I convinced her to send me naked pictures, which she did.
I then shared the pictures and screenshots of her secrets all over town. This led to her being kicked out of school and disowned by her family. Her life was completely ruined; she faced so much abuse that she had to move to a different town. Last I heard, she’s unemployed and living in poor conditions because her parents disowned her, leaving her without money.She never discovered the true identity of “the boy.” I don’t regret my actions at all, despite the consequences she faced.
Faking Sleep
When my mother was an intern, she worked late into the night and slept during the day. The only time we could talk was when she got home. I would lay in bed, trying to stay awake to see her, but the harder I tried, the quicker I’d fall asleep. Sometimes, she’d come home early, and I’d pretend to be asleep. She’d stand in the doorway, looking at me, hoping to hear about my day and have a nice chat.
I knew she came home early just to talk to me, yet I would keep my eyes shut and remain still, pretending to sleep. I’m not sure why I did that, even though I knew she wanted to connect with me. It’s a memory that lingers, filled with a mix of regret and confusion about why I didn’t take those opportunities to speak with her.
Simply Trying to Be Myself
I’m a 21-year-old guy, but I’ve always wished I could have been born a girl. Standing at 6’3 with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a chiseled jawline, I despise my body. I find the male figure repulsive. In high school, I used to joke about being a “lesbian trapped in a guy’s body,” but eventually, I realized it wasn’t a joke. I wear jeans and a t-shirt every day, but I constantly wonder how “girl me” would look in a sundress or cute lingerie.
I struggle to establish relationships with women because I envy their bodies and resent my own, which makes me avoid mirrors. I act girly and say girly things, leading people to assume I’m gay, but I’d be a proud lesbian if I could choose. I cry myself to sleep, feeling like a freak, unsure how to explain this to myself or my parents. Everyone thinks I’m just a normal, content guy, but that’s a huge lie. This has been weighing on me for the longest time.
My Baby Wasn’t a Mistake
I had a baby using a sperm donor I found on Craigslist. If my very religious family knew it wasn’t an accident, they would completely shun me. I was born with a facial deformity and have always struggled with my appearance. I’ve never had a long-term partner and have only been intimate a few times in my life. As I approached middle age, my biological clock was ticking loudly, and I desperately wanted a child.
I own my home and have a stable career, but I couldn’t afford the $15K per try for clinical procedures. Adoption was also unlikely because of my age and appearance. So, I turned to Craigslist and found a donor for free.Now, my child is a preschooler, and I’ve never been happier or more fulfilled. I feel incredibly lucky every day. I try to be the best mom possible and regularly send updates to the generous man who helped make my dream come true.
A Dangerous Choice
I’ve been with my wife for nearly 20 years, but the last 7 years have been difficult due to her untreated mental disorder. Two years ago, a business trip introduced me to a woman I connected with, but I decided to end it before it went too far.My wife, unaware of this, was very jealous.
When I returned, I gave her an ultimatum: get treatment or I would leave. She agreed and has been doing much better since. Ironically, the woman moved to our city last year, but we barely talk.Now, my wife and I are happier than ever, and I’m grateful for the wake-up call that saved our marriage.
I’m the One Following You
I stalked my friend, not just on social media, but genuinely stalked her. I made her so afraid to leave her house that she was nearly ready to call the FBI. I created fake accounts, got a burner phone, and sent mail with no return address. I developed a whole separate identity for this. Ironically, I even helped her try to find out who the stalker was. I had no reason for doing this other than boredom. No one knows about it, and my life and reputation would be ruined if anyone ever found out.
After high school, I went to a small out-of-state college where no one knew me. With my convincing Australian accent, I decided to pretend I was from Australia. All my friends and my girlfriend of two years believe this. I even created a fake Australian identity, complete with a fabricated family and past. As graduation approaches and I plan to propose to my girlfriend, I’m terrified because she doesn’t really know the real me.
Looks Like I’ll Be an Australian for Life
After graduating high school, I enrolled in a small out-of-state college where no one knew me. My fake Australian accent impressed so many people that I decided to pretend I was from Australia for fun. Now, all my friends and even my girlfriend of two years believe I’m Australian. I’ve created an entirely fake identity, complete with an Australian family and past.
As graduation approaches, I plan to propose to my girlfriend. However, she knows me only as an Australian, and I’m terrified of revealing the truth. I’ve woven such an elaborate lie that I feel trapped in this fabricated persona. I never imagined it would go this far, but now it seems I’m stuck being an Australian forever.
My Hidden History4o
Two years ago, I spent four months as a sugar baby. In my country, money given to a mistress is considered a gift and is tax-free for her. I was in desperate need of money, struggling to find work and barely eating. My first week, I earned $2000 for a weekend’s work. Surprisingly, I didn’t hate it. My main client was a decent person, much older than me but not unattractive. It felt empowering, especially after a tough breakup that left me in a low place.
The arrangement ended when my grandfather passed away, and I was asked to stay with my nana for a while. It was easy to lose contact with people during that time. I don’t regret it; I needed the money, felt beautiful, and learned a lot. However, my field of study will likely lead me to work in a Catholic or religious school setting, and I doubt many men would be comfortable with my past.
I Took My Deceased Cousin’s Money
When my cousin died at seventeen, we had a reception at his house after the funeral. During the gathering, I went into his room and stole all the money I could find, along with some valuables that his parents wouldn’t miss. Everyone assumed he didn’t have any significant money in his room, just some loose change. No one knows what I did, and I’ve never been suspected.
I don’t regret taking the money; I felt I needed it more than it would ever be needed in that empty room. However, it’s a secret I’ll carry to my grave. Admitting to it would destroy the trust and relationships I have with my family, so I’ll never confess. Despite the guilt, I’ve managed to move on and keep this dark part of my past hidden.
I Know Everything About You
As the IT guy, I have access to an astonishing amount of personal information despite everyone knowing that their computer activity at work is monitored and recorded. I have half the company’s banking, social media, and personal email account info and passwords. I know who’s having affairs in the office, who’s cybering at work and then finishing it in the bathroom, and who’s dealing with marital and financial issues.
I even know about one employee who had their children taken away due to illegal substances found in their home. I’m aware of who is embezzling money and who gets fired for superficial reasons, like being replaced by someone younger. I also know who my boss buys medications from.I hold a treasure trove of my coworkers’ secrets. While I have no intention of using this information, it’s reassuring to know I have leverage if I ever need it.
A Disgusting Habit
I have a habit of picking my nose and eating it regularly. No one knows about this, not even my girlfriend, with whom I spend every night. While it might not be catastrophic if people found out, it certainly feels like it would be to me. This secret habit has always been a source of personal embarrassment. I’ve managed to keep it hidden successfully, but the thought of someone discovering it makes me anxious.
Despite the shame I feel, I haven’t been able to break the habit. It’s a small, gross secret that I carry with me daily, and the fear of being judged keeps me from ever talking about it. If my girlfriend or anyone else were to find out, I imagine the embarrassment would be overwhelming. So, I continue to keep this disgusting habit to myself, hoping it never comes to light.
Fixated on Staying Thin
I am completely obsessed with my weight and appearance. I meticulously count every calorie I consume and will starve myself if necessary to stay within my daily limit. Planning meals and seeing myself get skinnier gives me a sense of control. Although I try to maintain a decent intake because I work out regularly, I often aim to stay just below that, though I’m not always successful.
In front of friends, I pretend to eat a lot, calling them cheat days, but I punish myself for it later. Everyone thinks I’m naturally skinny, unaware of the extreme measures I take. This obsession with being thin dominates my thoughts and actions, making me feel trapped in a cycle of constant self-regulation and guilt. It’s a secret burden I carry, striving to appear effortlessly thin while battling my inner turmoil and the relentless pressure I put on myself.
I Only Appear Happy
On the outside, I appear to be a happily married 30-something, about to buy a house, and in sync with my wife on most things like religion and kids. In reality, I’m deeply depressed, secretly a heavy drinker, and no longer believe in any higher power. My depression started with my mom’s sudden death and some family drama during my university years, which led me to start drinking heavily.
Now, my family is scattered, and while my wife and I are close, I’ve struggled to make new friends. I’m extremely stressed, constantly feeling pins and needles in my brain, head, and tongue. Despite my heavy drinking, I manage to hide it from my wife, who believes I’m happy and ready to start a family. In truth, I’m numb to the world. I maintain the facade for my wife’s sake, but I have no energy or desire for anything else. I tried therapy and medication, but nothing helped. I feel like I’ve missed my chance for a meaningful life.
Her Primary Lover
As a kid, I had severe asthma and would often be up all night coughing. My mom and I lived with her parents, sharing a room and often sleeping in the same bed. When I coughed at night, my mom would hug me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe. It distressed me, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I’d just tell her I loved her, which made her cry.
It took me years, and having my own child, to realize it’s hard to squeeze a kid so tightly they can’t breathe. My mom, who is bipolar, has a history of hurting and abandoning those who need care. I finally understood that she was so agitated by my asthma that she tried to stop my coughing by nearly squeezing me to death, then cried out of guilt when I expressed my love.
Fabricating Academic Records4o
I am living a lie. I told my entire family that I transferred from community college to a university, but I never completed the requirements. Since I live at home, I pretend to go to school every day, but instead, I spend my time at the local library. My deception is so detailed that I even meet my girlfriend on campus for lunch sometimes. I’ve created fake transcripts to show my family and use MIT OpenCourseWare to look up facts to discuss as if I learned them in class.
I’ve become an expert at lying to maintain this facade. My hope is to actually transfer in the fall and finally live a normal life. Admitting the truth is not an option at this point, as my lies have grown too extensive. I just need to hold out a little longer until I can make this fiction a reality.
I’m Not What They Believe
I run a cake business and charge hundreds for wedding cakes, but every single one is made using Pilsbury cake mix from Walmart, costing just $1 a box. I’m terrible at baking from scratch; every attempt has failed. Yet, baking is my reputation, and my friends call me the “cake girl.” My whole life feels like a lie because people constantly compliment my cakes, saying they’re better than any box mix and praising their deliciousness. The truth is, anyone could make them by just adding oil, eggs, and water.
However, I genuinely love decorating cakes. I make all the frostings and fondant from scratch, and my prices reflect the detailed decoration work rather than the cake itself. Only my husband knows the truth; even my best friends believe I bake everything from scratch. I’ve been doing this for years, and if the truth came out, my business and reputation would be ruined. I keep telling myself to learn how to bake from scratch, but I never do. Sometimes, I feel like such a fraud.
I Used to Be a “Little Girl”
I’m a guy in my late 20s who was taken into care at age 7. Everyone knows I grew up in foster families due to a troubled early childhood, but I keep the details vague to avoid questions. The truth is, for the first 7 years of my life, my birth mother raised me as a girl. She desperately wanted a daughter and didn’t let my gender stop her.A successful professional, she had me via an anonymous donor and, upon learning I was a boy, moved across the country. I was born at home and raised in isolation, attending a religious school for girls and believing I was one.
I had a happy, albeit unusual, childhood and never questioned my identity.At 7, a teacher accidentally spilled hot coffee on me, and when the staff stripped off my clothes to prevent burns, they discovered my true gender. Social Services intervened, and I was placed in foster care. My mother, delusional, insisted I was her daughter, leading to my removal and extensive therapy.
My Revenge Gave Him Minor Brain Damage
In primary school, I was relentlessly bullied, especially by a kid named Jonathan who used to whip me with skipping ropes and call me horrible names. At age 10, fed up with the constant bullying and the school’s ineffectiveness, I decided to take matters into my own hands.One day, as Jonathan and his friends charged at me, I stood my ground with a plastic tennis racket. Fueled by anger, I swung it in a complete circle and accidentally hit Jonathan hard in the face, causing him to bleed heavily.
He had to go home early and later sustained minor, temporary brain damage.I’m 17 now and have seen Jonathan a few times since. Though his head healed, the incident haunted me for years as I feared I had killed him. Jonathan’s friends were too scared to report me, shocked by my sudden outburst. People suggest I reconcile with him, but I can’t forgive him for the pain he caused me for two years.
Only Meant to Teach Him a Lesson
My “uncle,” a close family friend, moved to our area and lived with my grandmother for a year without paying rent, despite having a good job. After he and his family moved out, my grandmother’s house was robbed of valuables and money. She suspected my uncle since he often snooped around, especially near her room, and was sometimes home alone. Although she suspected him, she didn’t mention it in the police report to protect him, considering his wife and kids.
Suspicion grew when he tried selling us electronics, including an iPad with the previous owner’s information still on it. The final straw was when my aunt noticed a ring on his wife’s finger that belonged to my grandmother.Determined to teach him a lesson, I broke into his house while they were at a hockey game, trashed the place, and found my grandmother’s ring along with other stolen items. I left a note saying, “I know,” and returned the jewelry anonymously. No police report was filed, and now his family barely speaks to us. I don’t regret it; he needed to learn his lesson.
