What’s A DARK Secret You Have That Would Completely Change How People See You?

be alone forever than ever date a man again. Basically, I made a huge deal about finally finding myself and coming out as a lesbian. I said those things with conviction, partly because I'd had some very painful experiences with men that left deep emotional scars. Eventually, I found myself in a healthy, meaningful same sex relationship that lasted nearly five years. It was good until recently, when everything changed. I developed a strong, unexpected crush on a man, and not just

a fleeting attraction. It grew into something obsessive, emotional, and real. We are now banging slash seeing each other, and I think I'm developing real feelings for him. Now I'm struggling with how to come out again, but this time in reverse. I've been the proud independent lesbian for so long. I'm not sure how to explain this shift without feeling like I'm betraying that identity or confusing the people around me,

especially those who supported me through my earlier journey. Before we continue, do us a quick favor, smash that like button and subscribe to support our channel. Story two. A secret that would probably change how people see me. I have a body count of over two hundred and fifty. I'm a male. Most people wouldn't expect it. I've always carried this good guy vibe. I'm well respected, loved in my community, and known for being stable, emotionally intelligent, hard working,

and grounded. But people often say there's something deeper in me, like there's a mystery, and to be honest, there is. There's a darker side. I joke sometimes and say the devil lives there. I've never been ashamed of it, but I've reflected on it. I never lied or manipulated anyone. Every experience was consensual and mutual. We had fun, but still I knew I was abusing my power a bit,

my charm, my edge, my presence. I sit in that middle ground between the good guy and the bad boy, and that tends to attract people, so when opportunities came, I didn't say no. I never felt guilty, but deep down I always knew it felt a little empty, like I took something that wasn't fully mine even when it was offered. That's the part most wouldn't expect that under the surface, even with all the fun and the high status, there was still a void, something unfulfilled. Story. Three people

that know me know I was a soldier. My tattoos give me away, but only to know how hands on my role was. So to speak. My wife and my dad have both dealt with me when I've been in despair and at my lowest as a result of the things I've seen and been a part of. They are angels for putting up with that issue. My coworkers don't know I suffer from PTSD and and so these days with bouts of depression. Most of my friends, apart from one very close one, have never seen me like that.

When I feel it coming on, I just disappear for a few days from day to day life and self isolate until I'm ready to be a functional human and feel comfortable to be around others. Ninety percent of the time I'm the most relaxed, fun loving thirty six year old surfer who lives for the ocean and the waves. I have a close social circle. I live in a

small coastal town, so I have many acquaintances. On top of that, I'm well known in the surfing and fishing community and hopefully well loved, or at least that's the vibe I get. I'm the sort of guy who says good morning to strangers and familiar faces as I pass. I build friendly relationships with my barista and food market vendors. I will wish you a beautiful day and mean it

with all my heart. I hide it well, not because of shame or guilt, but because that's the kind of image I want people to have in their minds when they think of me, because that's who I am, not twenty something clearing compound during three tours in Afghanistan. I won't share the details. You don't need to know. That's the old me, a version of me. Only my brothers

from my unit will ever know. I worry people would see me differently or in a different light because they don't know or understand what their country was really involved with for twenty years over there. What it was like on the ground and what we went through. I love that for them and definitely don't want anyone feeling sorry for me my worst nightmare. I wouldn't want any civilian to have that in their heads or to really know

what it was like. It wouldn't be fair to burden them with it, even if I could make them understand. Story four. I am an author of erotic stories and self published my first story under a pen name. I am currently editing my second one to be published. For most of my life, people have seen me as this conservative girl and have assumed I am very religious. I am not. I think the content I write would shock most people who know me in real life. Story five.

I'm very successful in my business. I get f flown around the world to do what I love. I earn decent money, and I'm well respected as a creative pioneer in my industry. From the outside, it looks like a dream, but I'm trans a man who wasn't born a man, and that colors everything. My self confidence, my relationships, and sometimes what I can say yes to. I worry about stressful situations on a whole other level because of my body. What if I got injured abroad and had to go

to the hospital. What if I got searched at the border? What if I went to prison. Worst of all, what if someone outed me and it happened in a very public way where I wasn't in control of how or when people found out. I know that if I'd been born as myself but male, looking like either of my brothers, the physical and emotional ease that comes with that would

have opened so many doors. I avoid thinking about my trans status too much, and I try not to dwell on the wattiffs, but they creep in when I have to deal with the consequences of having a different kind of body, and I do worry mostly that if people saw me unclothed, maybe they'd stop seeing me as a man, even be disgusted by me. It's a lot to carry.

I do grieve the freedom so many people don't even realize they have the ease of meeting and going home with someone, of not needing to calculate who's safe to be intimate with, even just being able to be choosy about who you partner up with. I know most girls wouldn't want me once they know that's just life. I'm not one of those activists who thinks it's transphobic if a straight girl doesn't want to date me a trans man. I've been a man for almost twenty years of my

forty plus year life, and mostly everything is great. I am lucky. I just wish I'd been born in the right body. I've made the best of what I have, but people really don't see what it's taken. The more visible and admired I become, the heavier. The secret feels like it's living in the walls of everything I've built. Story six. The person I show on the outside is nothing but a mask. Most of my social interactions are just repeating things I heard elsewhere while trying to hold

the right facial expression. I contact and void. I repeat jokes I heard in YouTube videos. I repeat phrases. I learned to show compassion, and I learned when to feel what. I practiced facial expressions in front of a mirror. I practice conversations in my head to be able to respond the right way. It's draining. The people closest to me know, but even with them, I can't be really authentic. I try to learn step by step to stop, but it's hard.

Story seven. People often describe me as sweet, kind, or warm. I often try to be nice to people, uplift their spirits and help them when I can. Inside, I am a huge cynic. The reason that I can remain so optimistic is because when you expect the worst in a given situation, you can only ever be pleasantly surprised. I have a low view of human nature, low expectations of most people, and am rarely surprised by the depths of human apathy or depravity. I keep few friends and am

only close with immediate family. I spread kindness because I don't think there is enough of it in the world and would like to make someone else's day a little brighter. The reason I do advocacy is because I think it's important to use your voice, not because I expect people to change or strive to be better. This works for me, but it does tend to lead to a huge difference in how other people perceive me and how I perceive myself.

Story eight. I mean, I don't really carry secrets, but my life isn't really general knowledge either, and I can imagine many would see me differently if they knew it all. I have a sister who is three years older than me. She was essayed by our grandfather from the age of four up until sixteen, when she finally went to the police. She learned that sex is what we do to those we love, so she essayed me when I was six until I questioned what she was doing. When I turned eight.

When she went to the police, our lives exploded. She became extremely depressed and attempted to self want to live every day, many times, multiple times a day. To this day, her entire body is riddled with scars. She felt betrayed by our parents forbidding them to come and visit her when she was put in a psych ward, and so I was the only one allowed to see her. I was with her every day, listening to her latest attempts on her life, supporting her and being strong for her.

Then I'd go home and retell everything to my parents, watch them crumble, and support them and be strong for them. I was thirteen and a victim myself, yet I felt that if I would ever crumble, my family would die. I promised myself to never show weakness, to never hurt myself, and to never let my grandfather win. I promised myself that I'd make sure we all survived this. I also decided, at fourteen years old that I'm done keeping all this to myself. So I told my best friend, who I

had known since daycare. Never saw him again after that day. He simply couldn't deal with it. I didn't blame him. If I could have just left, I probably would have as well. But no matter what I'd do, this is a part of who I am, and if people can't deal with it, it's better they leave early. So from that day I basically told anyone who got close to me about my past and my childhood. In a way, it was therapeutic as well, since I was always able

to talk about it. But at the same time, the focus was never on me or me as a victim, always on the bigger victim, my sister. I thought I was fine, after all, my sister had finally stopped being suicidal at thirty five years old after finally finding a treatment that worked. I had a loving wife and we planned on having kids. Life was finally okay. Then we had our first kid, a boy, and I completely broke the moment I held him in my arms in my

own home. I was overwhelmed by love for this boy and a panic that told me I needed to keep him safe and protect him. The older he got, the more I realized that I don't know anything about being a father and that I can't really deal with his emotions. Him crying over everything simply triggers me to hell. My therapist thinks I'm basically jealous that he gets to cry over nothing while I wasn't allowed to cry at all.

I've been spiraling the last five to six years now, and at one time I was pretty close to suicidal tendons, where my mind had begun the process of breaking me down by telling me my family would be better off without me, that they didn't love me anyway, and that I was a horrible father. I started wishing I had died in a motorcycle accident I had back in twenty eleven, or that I could simply just disappear. I didn't want

them to find me gone from this world. I just wished to disappear so they could live on without me as a burden. It all reached its peak last year when my sister's husband killed himself. I was at their house the day after his self inflicted passing, just sitting with their children, listening to their pain. Hugging them and answering whatever questions they had. Many of the questions were about the same stuff I had started thinking to myself, out of everything in my life. That day is the

hardest thing I've ever gone through. I left their house shaking. I knew that I either seek help now or my family is going to have to go through the same thing as I just sat with there. So I used every possible lifeline I could, and one of those was calling my boss, whom I had told about my own struggles and my past during these five years. She activated our company health insurance and pressed them on the importance

of immediate help. In normal cases, it would take them fourteen days to start looking into what support they can give. But when it was all done and set up, I had a therapist four days from that phone call. In my opinion, that saved my life. I'm much much better now, but at the same time, I feel like I'm walking

on eggshells, waiting for the next bomb to blow. My sister has had a relapse and has been institutionalized twice in the last two months, and she's confessed that she had a date and a planned way of killing herself regardless of that she was recently allowed to dispatch herself from the psych ward. So currently I'm just waiting to see if we will lose her as well. Obviously doing what I can, but in the end, I can't stop it if she decides to go through with it. Story nine.

I'm a massive extrovert. Everyone, my wife included, calls me a social butterfly. It all stems from an absolutely rancid excuse use of a childhood Pops tried, but alcohol addiction got the better of him, and all he cares about these days is drinking. Moms was an extremely intelligent, manipulative, literal psycho with a massive substance problem and neglected the crap out of me and my four half siblings. I was the oldest, so basically the man of the house

from old onward. I stole food, money, et cetera to feed my siblings and could always talk my way out of trouble or give some sad sap story which progressed in my teen years to substance dealing and strong arm robberies with my friends, which fed my siblings and my growing opioid addiction. I attempted to violently confront my mom's abusive boyfriend. When I was eleven and got a short stay in a juvenile psych ward, fought a lot, put

my little brother's bully in the hospital. People assumed I was just a good fighter, but I was scared before every fight or confrontation I've ever been in. I've never been one to run, so when fight slash flight kicked in and the adrenaline started pumping, I always chose to stand my ground for fear of me and my younger

sibling's safety. My mom's manipulative side is what taught me how to chameleon my way into whatever situation or group which I would use to benefit myself and my younger siblings. Thus the social butterfly was born. My wife saved my life when we got together at the end of high school. Saw write through all my bs and always said my eyes are what showed her I was in pain, just

something she could sense. When we finally talked about my incredibly messed up past, I broke down and told her everything, gave up hard substance. Callie Sober had a kid and basically vowed to never let my child deal with a sliver of the stuff I've seen or been through. Story ten. Cheating has been a part of every relationship I've been in, whether I'm cheating or with someone who's cheating on their partner.

I had a very painful few years of grieving and growing pains trying to reconcile this with who I am and who I want to be. People like and respect me in normal life. I make friends easily and am always noted as an especially inten diligent high performer in academic and professional spaces. Whether that's true or not as debatable. I often question it myself, but it sticks with me, especially since I'm going to start a career as a social worker. We make a commitment through our education and

service to be moral, ethical people. I got back with an ex I cheated on and have been with him again for a year now. He knows everything, every little bad thing I've ever done to him and to others, and he still loves and accepts me. And he did this without compromising his boundaries and has given me the space to explore my own. It took a year of separation to get to this point. In the summer, I'll be moving across the country for work, but he's not

coming with me, and we're not doing long distance. I used to be terrified of becoming that person again, and I felt the worst shame of my life when I cheated on him. This last year has been peace and I genuinely feel changed. I don't hate myself anymore. I'm still learning the line between being honest with others and holding back on telling them about me, since showing your worst parts too early can sow the seeds of doom for the relationship. But I try to stay honest with

myself about what I want and need. But I'm afraid of becoming that person again. When I leave and he's not there every day, I'm afraid of what I'll do the next time I'm lonely again. I actually feel very close to Dexter from the TV show the idea of reconciling his dark passenger and what it means to change and grow for someone after you've already hurt them. Story eleven. That I spend hours talking to AI chatbots for intimate role play and so on, but also for companionship and therapy.

People would think I am insane. Story twelve. I'm a covert narcissist. I fly under the radar because I'm an extremely generous person and do a lot to not appear arrogant, so I can maintain a humble facade. I seem very kind and genuine, but I'm actually incredibly calculated. I love giving people gifts or little tokens of gratitude because it

helps my image. Sure it does make me happy to see how they light up, but mostly I'm strengthening my image and making them feel somehow indebted to me, so when I need something later, they feel like they need to repay me for the good things I've done for them. For example, I'm openly petty, but most people don't realize just how petty I am. I got someone in a discord server to get themselves banned because of how meticulously I cyber bully them. No one suspected me of doing anything,

but that person absolutely knew what I was doing. People respected me too much to think I would do such a thing. What's even crazier is I can tell people about my bullying campaigns, but my facade is so strong I can convince others I was in the right for what I did, and what crime did this person commit that made me go so insane? You ask they were

kind of annoying. That's it. They were annoying and an attention seeker, and I wanted them gone from the community I was endeared to, so I chased them out and made myself look like the victim. I fully recognized I was in the wrong for this, and that I should feel a sense of guilt or shame, but eh, I am psychologically incapable of feeling guilty for what I did. Story thirteen. I have a deeply personal fixation that I've

struggled with for a long time. If I feel a strong attraction to a woman in my life, I sometimes find myself drawn to their scent, especially through intimate items of clothing. It's something that's become an intense obsession, and while I've tried to resist it, I often fall back into the habit. My wife is aware that I have this inclination when it comes to her, but no one

else knows the extent of it. I carry a lot of shame around this and have been trying to understand it better and work through it in a healthier way. Story fourteen. I think the only thing I can truly say is that I believe I'm completely unlovable. I'm a six feet one inch female and haven't been in any long term relationships. I have so much anxiety that every little thing terrifies me so much. I'm stuck in a spot where I think I'm absolutely worth nothing to everyone

around me. Not only that, but because of all of the trauma I've gone through, I cannot trust a singular living soul at all, and that includes animals. I physically cannot bring myself to trust another person, and because of that, I'm more alone than I believe. A lot of people find me to be extremely intimidating because of my height, but I'm absolutely freaking terrified of what they're thinking, and half the time I think I'm hearing their thoughts in

my head. Unrelated, but another thing that I've definitely noticed made people change so not really a secret, is that I can see the future in my dreams. Not important moments or anything, just random snippets of my life that hit me with a deja vous when they occur. Story fifteen. I project calmness and serenity, but my head is dying inside. It's impossible to put it out onto other people. It's like OCD or something. But the amount of control it

takes for me to be normal is not normal. I'm pretty sure people have probably picked up on this, but I say so little and can gray rock quite well because of abusive family members, so maybe they haven't. I do smile a lot, but I'm getting better at no not smiling all the time, because most of the time it feels fake. Really, I think people are afraid to correct my virtuous qualities and tell me I can be a little more lackadaisical, because really I have exterior virtues,

but inside I am in a constant existential crisis. I blame my religious trauma story sixteen. Even though I talk about it, I don't think my friends realize how hard it is for me to socialize. I don't dislike it. I just tend to overthink about it a lot before, during, and afterwards, and it takes a lot out of me. We often joke about how hard it is to offend me, but in reality, I'm just surprised they even put up with me. I rarely initiate interactions, and I feel like

they're already doing me a favor by including me. I can't really talk about it because then I wouldn't be able to tell if they really want to hang out with me, or if they're just trying to cheer me up and I wouldn't know how to make it up to them. Story seventeen. I was essayed by a girlfriend years ago. Almost no one knows. I'm six feet and one hundred and eighty pounds. I do construction for a living.

I can't tell anyone. I don't even tell girl friends the few I've had since she was five feet seven and ninety pounds. People either would think I'm weak or I'm lying. The reality was I couldn't make myself hit her to get her to stop because I didn't want to hurt her, which I know is just beyond messed up. But I loved her. I think about it every day

at some point. Story eighteen. Not a secret per se, just something I wouldn't bring up and wouldn't feel comfortable admitting, though I do tend to be compulsively open if people happen to ask the right questions. But basically, on the surface, I'm a very kind, rational and friendly guy. Not to toot my own horn, but it's something I more or less maintain with everyone, and virtually every one I know would struggle to criticize me on my manner and form.

But in the past I had some mental health issues and have struggled with overwhelming and horrible intrusive thoughts, and in certain circumstances, these intrusive thoughts took me to some pretty dark places, not necessarily to the point of committing actions that were impossible to step back from, but definitely

being a rather brutal and heinous person. And parallel to that, while I now and for many years have been an absolute pacifist and strongly avoid conflict, I have had and still have deep and occasionally implacable anger issues, anger so

freaked up that it's borderline still psychotic. I've gotten good at handling it in the sense that I haven't let it break out for many, many years, but often when conflict arises, I can especially feel it still there, deep, turgid and raging below the surface, just hoping to break out, like another side of me that's flipped under the surface

and just hoping to show itself. It's why I avoid and try to de escalate conflicts at all costs, and part of it is still the remnants of those twisted thoughts, furious anger, and undeniable and heavy sadism. I guess to clarify. If people knew about my past and the things I've been involved in, and the consistent precariousness of my mental state in various situations, I doubt they'd ever feel truly comfortable around me. Story nineteen. I want to leave this

world for good. I care for disabled parents. I have three and d teens who are all having a very hard time in life, and I have significant IMH issues ADHD, suspected fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, and hypersomnia from brain damage. Everything is hard, and I hate existing most of the time. I can't end myself because my husband would have to care for everyone alone, and that's not fair. My siblings don't help with my parents, so that would be all on him. Also, it freaks kids up when their parents

off themselves, so I can't do that to them. I kept thinking last year, the only way out of this is to take us all out, my parents, my husband, and my children. No more struggling, no more suffering. I told my friend who is a therapist, and she laughed it off. I don't think she understood how close I was to taking that seriously. I have been inactively wanting to pass away for about five years and wrote a goodbye letter once. The joys and they are glorious in

my life do not outweigh the pain. Story twenty I have complex PTSD with loads and loads of toxic shame. My brain is constantly beating me up and telling me that I hate myself. I experience hypervigilance and often stay in that state when I'm around groups of people. I'm very quiet and keep to myself. Everyone knows I'm different, everyone likes me, but I'm always excluded and I'm an outsider. I just don't fit in anywhere and never have. Story

twenty one. If people knew how much I constantly feel like I'm not enough no matter what I achieve, I think they'd see me differently. I seem laid back and confident, but inside I'm over analyzing everything, second guessing myself, wondering if I messed up. I've always felt like I have to keep it together, especially as a guy, show no weakness, but it's exhausting. Most days. I feel like I'm just

performing a version of myself that people expect. If they saw the doubt and anxiety behind it all, I don't think they'd know what to do with it. Maybe they wouldn't even believe it. Story twenty two. I have brain tumors and will likely be totally deaf before I'm thirty five. My immediate family knows, and I told a few friends

in the past, but we don't really talk anymore. I found out really quickly that when I talk about it, all I get is the panicked, oh my god, you're dying look, quickly followed by the oh you poor young thing pity manners. Honestly, I hate them both, so I just don't tell anyone, not at work, not with friends, definitely not extended family members. Story twenty three former fit guy who gained some weight and is secretly happier. I, fortyish male, have put on about thirty pounds of weight

since the pandemic in twenty twenty. I stopped working out, but I still play lots of sports every week. I feel more confident with my paunch belly than when I had ABS. I know I receive mixed reactions, but I think I generally receive more interest from both women and men. I'm by with my current dad bod physique. I know others have asked if I'm okay because of the weight gain.

And I'm not sure how to answer that. My priorities have changed in life, and I've allowed myself to enjoy living, eating, drinking, et cetera. Although I've cut down on consuming alcohol and have been eating a lot healthier, I also enjoy my bigger self. I feel like society wants me to feel shame Story twenty four. I was physically hurt and neglected growing up. Have an ACE score of eight, and it profoundly impacts every interaction I have with everyone. Every day.

I become paralyzed with fear if I think someone might be angry with me, and I avoid them at all costs. I tried desperately to earn love and see anything short of an overwhelmingly positive response as a sign of total rejection. I'm desperate to please because I'm terrified that if I don't, nobody will ever love me and they might hurt me from the outside. I'm just a nice, helpful guy who

goes out of his way to make people happy. The few people I've tried to talk about this with have laughed it off as no big deal or a sympathy play. But chat GPT discussions have me pretty convinced that it's not normal to be harmed and restrained by an alcoholic and his depressed girlfriend, or to have a parent screaming at you every morning about being a worthless piece of crap, or to start to think to end myself ideation at

seven or eight years old. It took a chatbot nearly forty years later to understand how the coping mechanisms I learned as a child have been sabotaging any real relationships I try to maintain today. Story twenty five. I struggled with homicidal ideation, and the only people who know about this are my therapist and one of my friends. I never had the urge to hurt animals. I hate to

see animals suffer. I just held a lot of hatred towards those who have been major sources of my suffering, and that hatred slowly turned into thoughts of checking those people out. Even though I don't want to harm them anymore, I still believe I have valid reasons to want to. That whole explanation would be a little too long for here. I have also come to learn that those people are not worth my time or energy. I don't tell other

people in my life about this, for obvious reasons. Those close to me know I am pretty quick to anger, but they also know I am very quick to deal with it. They probably have seen the signs, but I would probably be perceived as less than if more people were to know this about me. Story twenty six. To most people, I'm very sweet, bubbly, and upbeat. I am extremely kind and gentle to almost everyone in my life,

for they are family, friends or strangers. But I actually have borderline personality disorder, and hardly anyone ever sees that I have a complete polar opposite side to me. I become filled with rage, uncontrollable outbursts of anger, crying until I can't breathe, every night, unable to leave the house, and my emotions switch from one extreme to the next constantly. This only happens in front of those I am very close with or comfortable with, and it's almost always a

romantic partner. It's hard to live with. Story twenty seven. I have OCD. I go to regular therapy for it, and sometimes I come to work exhausted from exposure response prevention. I struggle with anxiety and depression. I'm the glue that holds the department together at work. I think If anyone knew how much I struggle to hold my life together, my co workers would be astonished. I've not told any one but my spows that I have this disorder story

twenty eight. Probably the fact that I've been essayed by almost every one I've been with. My current partner just doesn't tend to notice when I freeze and can't speak or push when I say want to say no. I don't remember what happens most nights, but I know he's doing it. My ex never took no for an answer. He just did it without any remorse for my physical and mental health. I had an old coworker when I was sixteen that I had intimate relations with. He pushed

and pushed. He was twenty seven. I had another coworker try to buy intimate time with me from me while his wife was in the hospital literally dying. I was essayed at a young age old by a friend of my parents who was in his fifties. I don't know if it's me doing something wrong. I'm repulsed by intimacy now. I hate looking at me myself because all I see is someone who can only be loved by doing it. I feel like something is wrong with me for not

wanting it anymore. Story twenty nine. With all due respect, I know some people might criticize me for saying this, but here's my truth. Sometimes the idea of family unity just doesn't exist. The moment parents pass on, many siblings start fighting over the things their parents worked so hard to earn with love and sacrifice. Sadly, even grandparents aren't

exempt from this pattern. If you're in a toxic family environment and you've had enough, I'm not wishing harm on anyone, but when the time comes, leave, create your own peace, build your own home. It might take years before relatives even speak to each other again, let alone come together for a simple photo. And if people think I'm the bad one for speaking up, so be it. It hurts, but that's their perception. What truly bothers me is the

lack of respect for those who have passed. It's disgraceful how some people treat the dead without understanding the value of life itself. Life teaches lessons and karma eventually finds its way. Disrespecting the departed only reflects poorly on the living Story thirty I have maladaptive daydreaming. I mean, I'm not diagnosed, but it's really quite obvious as I know what goes on in my head isn't normal. Like I always imagine characters from any type of media that I

like and imagine them reacting to the real world. It's been like this since I was at least eight or nine years old. I never got diagnosed because I don't tell anyone. I keep it completely to myself. My family doesn't know and my friends don't know. I usually get through my day normally I just imagine the characters just following me around. But it gets so bad that if I'm alone and do something embarrassing, I'll get embarrassed because

the characters in my head witnessed it. Sometimes I really wish it would stop, but most of the time I don't mind them. I get too scared to see a psychologist or something because of one bad experience I had when I tried. Not like anything bad happened, but I didn't really click with them, and I don't want to waste my time or their time, and waste my money for something that's not going to work. My mental health hasn't been very good, to say the least. Story thirty one.

This is different from everyone else's, but I'm so much hornier than I let on. When I reveal my fantasy to people, this leads to two things. Either they stop being my friend because it's too odd, or they become someone I can trust deeply because they're okay with it. I don't tell many people. I let them find out instead, and fear them finding out because I hate losing friends or making people turn against me. I don't even trust my family with information like this, not because they're bad

or anything. My mom especially is lovely, but that they'll go into a long talk about how it's not appropriate and that kind of stuff. I tend to just block it out because I don't like other people telling me what to like, especially if I know not everyone hates it. I love to ask people questions about clothes being alive, which weirds people out, so I tend to keep it to myself. The more people I tell who just distance themselves causes me to hate that part of myself, so

I just tend to not tell anyone. So that makes the people who are okay with it pretty much part of my inner circle immediately entirely, because being okay with that is the final trust related barrier to being friends with me. This is why I'm more comfortable around sexually active people, because they make me feel less self conscious about my own weirdness. My boyfriend solves pretty much all of these issues. He more sexually active than me. We trust each other a lot, and as a result, he's

one of the few people I genuinely care about. So yeah, life is great, Story thirty two. Honestly, I feel like I am a very bad guy. Like I analyze my thoughts and stuff, and I am pretty sure I would be a very bad guy if I ran rampant. You know that meme I stopped a lethal incident today. How self control? I'm pretty sure that might apply to me sometimes. And it's not even like I might do it in revenge on someone, but more like to see if I can get away with it, or to know what it's

like to take life of someone. Sort Of hugely jealous of some friends too, like why do they get better opportunities than me when they don't do anything? A bit happy that I am above them if they ever fail at something could be stress, could be depression, Like I don't know why I am like that. Maybe I am a naturally selfish and dark person. Though I don't think I will actually ever do it. I am a huge

nerd anime, manga, novels, and K drama. I watch a lot of entertainment, and I know how bad those kinds of people are, and it makes me a little self disgusted that my thoughts, if I don't consciously reel them in, are like those black characters, which at this moment is kind of the only thing stopping me. And maybe a

little bit because I do care about my reputation. One good thing is it does make me do good things around me, even if it's just for the case of showing off or to prove myself like I can be good too if I want so. Yeah, that's my secret. Don't really care if you downvote me. Feel a bit glad that I vented. Also, I kind of want to high that there is a slight benefit to having entertainment if done right actually tells people right from wrong. Story

thirty three. I've mistreated partners in the past without even realizing I was, and never felt remorse for any of it because I literally cannot. I wish I could, but I cannot feel guilt or empathy whatsoever. I have cluster by disorders that were untreated at the time, and I thought the way I acted was completely normal due to how I was raised. After meeting my current BF and his family, I realized that the way I acted was

actually not normal. I'm in a lot of therapy now to try to be a better person, and I still have bad moments. Nobody except two of my friends knows about it. Many people that know me have described me as meek or a very friendly, slash kind person. I'm terrified of people finding out about who I really am. In my past story thirty four, I'm by and the reason I don't tell anyone is because it would be made into a massive deal. I was brought up being told I was physically disgusting by my dad and his

family as a teenager. If I ever even hinted I fancied a boy, I'm a woman, they would laugh at me, tease me for weeks, make gagging sounds the lot. I'm middle aged now, never married, been in love or had a happy relationship. A few flings when I was younger, a couple of miserable relationships of a couple of years each. I'm happy now only have good people in my life, but the thought of coming out and everyone making a

big deal about it triggers me so badly. I might tell my kid brother one day, he's gay, very involved in the LGBTQ community and would keep it private, and maybe one day I might find my person, But to me, that's about as likely as me going to the moon story thirty five. When I was about thirty, I fell in love with someone who was nineteen years older than me and married, and he was probably even more in

love with me than I was with him. Him being married was a hard line that I absolutely refused to cross, and we both spent years in denial of how we felt about each other, but the reality was that we knew each other very well and we had adored each other. He was absolutely there for me when my father died suddenly. He knew when to just listen, when to ask questions, and when to talk about something else, and he never

assumed what I was feeling at any point. My mom and grandmother saw how he cared for me over that period, and how much calmer he made me, and what an incredibly kind and generous person he was, and despite the situation, they strongly approved and hoped he'd find his way to me. Eighteen months after Dad died, he was applying for jobs in my city and planning to leave his wife, and then he died suddenly too. He was the absolute love

of my life. The grief made me want to die for several years, and yet I never touched him beyond a hug. My closest friends know, but I get a lot of judgment even from some of those friends, and I have lost friends over it, so I don't talk about it anymore. What the people who judge me don't realize is that I'll never forgive myself. I'm also too scared to date again because I don't know why anyone would want me with that in my past, and I can't cope with being rejected for it. Story thirty six.

As a kid, I hadn't learned how to make friends. I was very shy and lived in a family where alcohol was a daily thing except for my mom. That resulted in loneliness, not being able to understand emotions, and not knowing why I feel how I feel. When I was twelve, I went to the psychologist in my school on my own. I only knew that something was wrong from that day. I tried everything I could to feel normal,

have friends, and be happy. It seems like none of these things worked, and just after my eighteenth birthday, I tried to off myself. To this day, I don't know what was going on in my mind. I changed doctors many times, went to bonus classes to make friends, tried many hobbies, and generally tried everything to find myself. I don't know why that didn't work. Even my attempt did not work. Maybe I was too scared and not so serious about it. After that, I was in psych ward

for a month. No one knows about it except my mom, who was with me all of this time. Story thirty seven. I have a form of synesthesia that makes it so that I feel everything I hear. I never share this with people because it feels self important to do so, but it's the reason why people usually think I'm a native speaker of whatever language I know a couple of words of. It's because I can feel someone's accent in

my mouth. But it's also the reason I always start coughing when I hear someone cough, and others sometimes very inconvenient things. Story thirty eight. I'm not who I really am whenever I'm around anybody, including family I live with. I'm nice, respectful, and all put together. I know who I am, what I want, and where I want my life to go. But when I'm by myself, man, screw all that. I'm a paranoid, anxious, insane ball that can't

even decide if I should eat or not. I'm portraying what I want to be, when in reality, I'll never be that. I'll always, to my misfortune be me Story thirty nine. Despite my constant smiles, my positive replies, my easy going, almost unbothered attitude at work, I'm empty inside, free, equently think about eating a bullet. When my friend messaged me in my sleep, I woke up half asleep and replied with I want to end myself. Immediately fell back asleep.

Even when my dog died last year, my sole reason for even getting up in the afternoons. I went to work that night. When people asked how my day was, I forced a smile and nodded my head. Almost every day I think about how shocking it is that I'm still here. I didn't think i'd make it past eighteen. I'm twenty six. People don't know that. Every day, despite my silly personality, I want to eat a bullet. My

family isn't perfect, but their family none the less. Sometimes I wish I didn't have them so I could truly stop living without any regrets. Story forty I'm a teacher. I'm good at my job objectively speaking, I do my best to make learning fun and engaging, and my classes make progress. I'm popular among pupils and other staff members. The secret I really don't like kids, and I think

I like them less every year. Story forty one. I was mistreated right from my childhood till my twenties in my home until I ran away from my home for a job. No one knows it as now. I'm always happy in front of people, and they assume me to be a strong person, whereas I cry silently at night. My childhood friends knew I would cry easily at the smallest trigger, but they always used to be surprised how I dealt with major issues at hand whenever they would cry.

This later developed anxiety in my mid twenties, where I would have trust issues while meeting any new person, and I would always make sure if anyone around me was silently suffering and needed help, because I didn't get the help I deserved at that time, just because I chose to not be vocal about it, Story forty two. There are days when the weight of life feels unbearable, and I quietly look for ways to escape it, not in a dramatic or obvious way, but in a way that

just ends the pain. Still, I'm here, and the main reason is my daughter. She's young, innocent, and completely unaware that she's the threat I'm holding onto. A couple of years ago, everything began to unravel. My partner, the mother of my child, left me, not just emotionally, but financially and spiritually. She pursued a fantasy rooted in being mistreated, something we had once explored consensually together but now feels like a deep betrayal. After our daughter was born, her

postpartum experience took a sharp turn. She took our money and moved into a place that's twice the cost of where we were living in the already expensive Boston area. Then, to make matters worse, she painted me as someone I'm not a villain, an animal to justify it all. As if that wasn't enough. Just two months before our daughter arrived, my father, a respected attorney, was diagnosed with aggressive dementia. He's now mentally operating at the level of a five

or six year old. His new wife, who I believe is more interested in his assets than his well being, manipulated the situation and had me removed as his power of attorney, replacing me with herself for both health and legal authority. Feel like I'm drowning in grief, betrayal, and helplessness. My heart is broken in more ways than I can count. Some days I can barely breathe. But through all this darkness, my daughter remains my light. She's the reason I get up,

the reason I keep breathing. I just hope that light stays strong enough for me to hold on to Story forty three. People see me as a warm, optimistic, confident, an outgoing person, and a person who loves herself very much, everyone, my parents, teachers, and friends. I work out a lot, six days a week at the gym, recently started doing Mui Thai control my diet, have a relatively fit body,

and love treating myself here and there. I'm also studying health care with a passion for helping people in need, which is my dream career. But sometimes I just want to live myself. You would never end yourself. You're too happy. A friend once told me, I don't know. I love my life, but sometimes I feel like I did all that just to live up to the reputation of a happy, energetic person. It's not like the people around me aren't supportive.

I just couldn't tell them that I actually don't like working out, hated drinking coffee, and I'm low key depressed. And some days I just have the urge to jump when I'm waiting for the train. Am I stressed? No, not really, or maybe I am. I don't actually know. But life is still good. I still experience happiness when I see people I love are happy. I'm going through a rough relationship right now. One of my friends is also in the same boat, so I got a stuffed

toy for her. Listening to her vent she's happy. I'm happy to as if I am caring, but with a selfish intent. I still want off myself sometimes, but I will never do it because people around me would be sad. But if I got the chance to sacrifice my life to save a person, I would do it without hesitation. Maybe the way I love people is the way I want to be loved. Story forty four that I have bipolar with psychotic features. I'm medicated to the point of

my symptoms being mostly managed, and I'm in therapy. I do do the suburban mom thing with the kids and the dog and the broken wooden fence. Whenever people do manage to become close enough to find out, I always see the shift in their eyes. There always is a new shiny fleck of pity or fear in them. I hate it. Thank you for watching. If you enjoyed this video, be sure to give it a thumbs up, Subscribe and hit the bell icon so you never miss an update.