This happened in February of last year, but my friends have been telling me I need to post this story online … so here goes nothing:

My wife and I (both 31 years old, at the time) moved into a new three-unit apartment building in San Francisco. One of our neighbors is a 70-something year old retired veteran, we’ll call him Joe. For context, Joe is a white American guy and he’s also a devout Hindu priest. One day I run into Joe in my hallway, and he tells me about this charity he manages for a community in Bangladesh. I wanted to support my neighbor and the charity, so I ask Joe to send me the GoFundMe link.

The next day at work, I go on the GoFundMe page and donate $150. Or so I thought. Moments later, I get a text on my phone warning me of an unusually large transaction on my credit card. I’m confused and swipe to open the text message. It says I have made a payment of $15,041 to GoFundMe. Immediately I’m sweating. How could I have donated FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS? I spend the next 10-15 minutes retracing my steps, and finally I realize my credit card starts with the numbers 4 and 1. It seems I had accidentally started typing my credit card information while my cursor was still in the donation box, and just like that 150 became 15041. Yikes.

I call GoFundMe’s support line in a panic, and when I finally connect with a human I explain what happened. “No need to worry”, he tells me, they will initiate a refund of the transaction which should process in 3-7 business days. That’s a huge relief. But then I ask the agent if the charity will be able to see the donation on the GoFundMe page until it is refunded. “What do you mean?” the agent asks me. “What do YOU mean what do I mean?” was my response. “Will they be able to see the $15,041 donation?!” Unfortunately, yes, the agent tells me. They will be able to see it until the refund process is complete. I tell him that’s a big problem, as the entire GoFundMe had hardly raised that much at that point. Surely they will notice their fundraiser doubling overnight?

My plan was to knock on Joe’s door the following morning to give him the full story, so that he could pass it along to his contacts in Bangladesh. But when I woke up the next morning, I looked at my phone and saw I had 40+ notifications on Facebook. Someone had sent me a friend request, had liked many of my old posts, and had sent me many messages. Immediately I was concerned when I saw that the individual messaging me had a Hindu name, but I never could have imagined what I saw when I opened his first message…

The man had sent me a video of himself from Bangladesh, surrounded by dozens of impoverished and hungry people holding bags of food, thanking me BY NAME (Michael) for my generous donation. A big round of applause for Michael. At this point, I’ve leapt out of my bed and I’m pacing. Part of me wants to scream, part of me wants to crack up laughing. I start swiping through the man’s messages, and it is picture after picture after picture of poor Bangladeshis thanking me for my kind donation. Literally hundreds of photos of frail, elderly, disabled, and malnourished individuals holding signs with my name. Thank you, Michael. Thank you, Michael. I've uploaded a portion of the video, and a few photos, for you guys to see here: https://imgur.com/gallery/tROXniV

Needless to say, I couldn’t live with myself just donating $150 after seeing how the community responded to the $15,041. I decided the least I could do was to add a zero, and so I donated $1,500 once the original donation was refunded. The charity’s host was incredibly gracious and understanding, and he explained to me that $1,500 goes very far in Bangladesh for urgent food relief. Here is the charity’s new GoFundMe link if you want to check it out: https://www.gofundme.com/f/urgent-food-relief-assistance-in-bangladesh

Ultimately I think the whole experience was a win-win. I helped a great cause, and I got a funny story out of it.

TL;DR: Some impoverished folks in Bangladesh thought I had sent them $15,041 but it was an accident and I had to request a refund for most of it.

EDIT: Many are asking why there is no $1,500 donation listed in the fund’s donation history. I donated to an old campaign link for the same charity. It is readily findable online, if you feel compelled to search for it.

I was born in Singapore, spent most of my childhood abroad, and only moved back at 17. Maybe if I grew up there I would have known more seriously how they treat crime and misbehaviour.

I didn't pay much attention in school and got involved in crime in my late teens and earlier 20s, eventually escalating to robbery. I didn't use a real weapon but pretended I had one, and it worked well for a while in a place where most people are unaccustomed to street crime, until inevitably I eventually got caught.

This was during the early pandemic so they maybe factored that in when giving me a comparably short prison term at only 2 year, but I think the judge made up for it by ordering 12 strokes of the cane, a bit higher than I expected. I knew it would hurt but I had no idea how bad it actually would be.

Prison was no fun, of course, but the worst was that they don't tell you what day your caning will be. So every day I wondered if today would be the day. I started to get very anxious after hearing a couple other prisoners say how serious it is.

They left me in that suspense for the first 14 months of my sentence or so until I began to try to hope, after hundreds of "false alarms" of guards walking by the cell for some other purpose, that maybe they'd forget or something and it would never happen. But nope, finally I was told that today's the day. I had to submit for a medical exam and a doctor certified that I was fit to receive my punishment.

My heart was racing all morning, and finally I was led away to be caned. It's done in private, outside the sight of any other prisoners. It's not supposed to be a public humiliation event like in Sharia, the punishment rather comes from the pain.

I had to remove my clothes and was strapped down to the device to hold me in place for the caning. There was a doctor there and some officers worked to set up some protection over my back so that only my buttocks was exposed. I had to thank the caning officers for carrying out my sentence to teach me a lesson.

I tried to psyche myself up thinking "OK it's 12 strokes, I can do this!" But finally the first stroke came. I remember the noise of it was so loud and then the pain was so shocking and intense, I cried out in shock and agony. I tried then to get away but I couldn't move.

By the 3rd stroke I could barely think straight, I remember feeling like my brain was on fire and the pain was all over my body, not just on the buttocks. I think I was crying but things become blurry after that in my memory. I remember the doctor checking to see if i was still fit for caning at one point and giving the go ahead to continue.

After the 12th stroke they released me but I couldn't move, 2 officers had to help me hobble off. They doused the wounds with antiseptic spray and then took me back to a cell to recover. My brain felt like it was melting from the pain so my sense of time is probably a bit distorted from that day but I remember I collapsed down in the cell and either passed our or went to sleep.

But little did I realize that the real punishment of Caning is more the aftermath, than the caning itself!

When I woke up the pain was still incredibly intense, but not so much that it was distorting my mind, which almost made it worse in a way. My buttocks had swollen immensely and any pressure on it felt like fire that immediately crippled me, almost worse than a kick to the groin.

My first time I felt like I had to use the toilet, I was filled with dread because of the pain...I managed to do it squatting instead of sitting, but still, just the motion of going "#2" agitated all the wounds and the pain was so sudden and intense that I threw up. I tried to avoid eating for a week because I didn't want to have to use the toilet.

After a couple days the officers told me I couldn't lay naked in my cell anymore and had to wear clothes. This was scary because they would agitate the wounds. I spent most of the day trying to lay face-down and totally still because even small movements would hurt so bad as the clothes rustled against it.

This continued for about a month before things started to heal, and even then, these actions remained very painful, just not cripplingly painful. I didn't sit or lay on my back for many months. By the time I got out of prison I had mostly recovered but even to this day, there are severe scars and the area can be a bit sensitive.

It was way worse than I expected the experience to be. I know it's my fault but I do wish my parents had warned me more about the seriousness of justice here when we moved back - though I know i wouldn't have listened as a stupid teen. Thankfully they were supportive when I got out and I'm getting back on my feet - literally and metaphorically.

TL:DR Got caught for robbery in Singapore, found out judicial caning is way worse than I ever imagined

So just a little background info for context here, my husband is one of those pimple popper dudes. He loves to pop pimples. He often requests to pop my pimples that I can't reach, or even ones I CAN reach, that just appear especially.... juicy...yuck. Me on the other hand, I hate it. I hate having my pimples popped, I hate popping pimples. I wish I could just zap them off. Plus, it always hurts more when he does it...he doesn't have gentle fingers. He's got big meaty sausage man fingers that don't delicately do ANYTHING. I love him through thick and thin though, and so he gets to pop my pimples sometimes. And I will oblige and pop the ones for him that he cannot reach. Like the ones on his back or back of his legs. What did he ever do before me right? Anyway, onto my fuck up.

This morning I roll onto my side and begin to wake up. I'm still sort of groggy, sort of in and out, BUT what I see is my husband who's laying on his stomach, snoring peacefully. I begin to try and rouse (not AROUSE, learn the difference!!!) my husband by rubbing his back and playing with his hair and just in general being sweet. And holy mother of all that's disgusting...my husband has a pimple on his back that is just...huge. I mean this thing could be a cyst for all I know. Okay well maybe not a cyst it's not THAT big, but still...it's pretty large. And I can just tell.........this is going to be one he WANTS me to pop. He's going to wake up...feel it...see it...and beg me to pop it. So instead of delaying the inevitable, and while I'm feeling up to the task, I decide ok...I'll do it. All the pus that comes out? He is going to...freak. He will probably give me some sort of like...best wife ever award. At the very least he's going to not have this disgusting thing on his back anymore so that's a win too.

So, I ready my fingers and my mind...I find this thing again and I am locked on. I am steady. I get my fingers in prime...no. Not prime. optimal...yeah.... OPTIMAL squeezing position. And I'm ready. He breathes in and as he's breathing out, I SQUEEZE. I mean I just...go for it. I'm not as good as he is...and I have to loosen my grip and reposition QUICKLY and squeeze again to really get under it...but by God, I've got it...and it....is......!!!!

Not glorious.

And let me explain to you why. See here is another little background info tidbit for context. I'm pregnant with my third child. And one thing that has been very consistent with all three children is that well...I have very vivid and convincing dreams during pregnancy. I mean with my last pregnancy I had a dream me and Rihanna were an item and when I awoke to a white man (granted a handsome white man) in bed with me INSTEAD of Rihanna I was genuinely shocked and dare I say a little angry. ANYWHO. back to this morning. Where was I? Oh yeah, popping my husband's mega pimple.

Wrong. See I dreamed all of that and all I had actually done was reach over, in my sleepy stupor and proceeded to pinch. the ever-loving shit...out of my husband's right nipple. oh yes and not just pinched, but also proceeded to yank. My husband ... my poor poor husband...awoke to having his nipple yanked in a sick game of titty twister that would have made any of my guy friends back in middle school proud. Mind you this is also the nipple he is missing half of ALREADY due to a freak accident involving him and his stupid high school friends, a truck and a poorly placed jack. So, he's got a little PTSD involving that nip already. Well, my husband is screaming, which wakes me up, and before I can even understand what I'm doing he is flailing around and I am now screaming "What the fuck!" as I try to roll my rather large, 8 months pregnant, body out of the way (to no avail) and I promptly get elbowed in the throat. SO. now I've let go. I'm coughing cause I can't breathe. Hés rolled over and is guarding what's left of his nipple, cupping his hand to his chest and just keeps saying "What is WRONG with you???" which of course I cannot answer because I have been elbowed in the fucking throat. Eventually I do croak out though that I was trying to pop his pimple and he just looks at me with this look on his face that just says, "I'm so glad you're pretty" and that was how we started our day.

​

TL;DR

I thought I was popping my husband's pimple, therefore doing him a favor. Turns out, I was dreaming that I was doing this nice thing for him and instead I was attempting to rip his nipple off his body as he slept. He screamed. I got elbowed in the throat because I'm too fat at this moment to roll out of the way quickly. And that was how we both began our morning.

So, I’m passively doom scrolling on Instagram when I receive a DM from a man whom I do not know. I am no stranger to the scammers on Instagram, the ones who message you and say they want to “help you out.” I’ve always ignored them, as they’re obvious scams. But today was different, call it a lapse in judgement or a sudden loss of brain cells.

I receive a message from a man who seemed nice enough. Had a thought-out profile with photos and stories—not your typical fake profile. We start chatting back and forth, and things seem normal. Then this man asks me to be his Sugar Baby. Immediately I tell him that I a) have no money b) have no intention of sending him any money and c) am not interested in being scammed.

Of course he launches into a grandiose speech about how he’d never scam me or ever ask me for money. That he’ll be paying me, so there’s no need for me to be worried. Apprehensively, I agree to keep talking to him. We exchange phone numbers and begin texting back and forth.

A few days go by and we’re chatting regularly. I talk to him about work, his day, he asks me about my day. Things largely seem benign, at this point I’m assuming I’ve met a lonely old man who is looking for some attention. We never talked in any sexual capacity and he seemed to take a genuine interest in my life.

Fast forward to a few days later, he texts me and tells me he’s going to pay off my credit card debt (which we had previously talked about). I ask him how he intends to do so, and he becomes insistent on logging in to my credit card account and adding his bank account information as the form of payment. Initially, I was incredibly reluctant. Rule 1 of basic cyber security would dictate that anyone asking for my personal information SHOULD NOT be given said information. However, there I sat weighing the risks and rewards. A young college student with a sizable amount of debt from living expenses ($2,000+) and a man seemingly willing to pay it all off.

So, I run the risk. I give him the login information and sit anxiously as I ponder all of the ways this man could ruin my life. Then, the pending payment was posted and I receive email confirmation. Immediately, I change my password and thank him profusely.

After a day or two, the payment clears and my card is paid off. The euphoria I felt in that moment is unmatched. We continue talking back and forth for about two weeks, cut to last night at about 1 AM.

I am texting him about his weekend and he asks me to run an errand for him—this is where the feeling in my gut that something was wrong started. Then he starts telling me that he needs gift cards for crypto trading; that I need to get the cards for him because I’m the only one he can trust. That once I purchased the cards with my credit line, he would pay it all back just as he did before.

Naturally, I begin to ask questions. Why do I specifically need to purchase the cards? Why can’t he purchase them for himself? How many does he need? etc. Quickly, his patience runs thin, he begins pressuring me to purchase the cards and telling me I owe him for paying off my card.

Finally, I tell him outright no. That I’m uncomfortable and that he had promised I wouldn’t ever have to pay any fees of give him any money. Then, he got very angry.

I am not well educated on the SD/SB dynamic, but I do know that no one would ask anyone to do something of this nature unless they’re into some shady business. Either he’s scamming or laundering money, regardless I didn’t want to be involved. The man begins to ask for his money back, saying that if I don’t pay him back in 24 hours he’ll make me regret my life. I ask him how he wants to receive payment and he provides an email I do not recognize.

It was then that I realized—I fucked up. I start panicking and shaking. At first, I considered just sending the money and having it all over with. I was so embarrassed about the debt and terrified of my parent finding out.

Ultimately, I knew I didn’t have the money. In fact, I never had the money at all. I wasn’t given the money to pay the card, he added the payment to the account himself. So, I deleted every social media I had and changed every password to everything I own. I blocked his phone number and began thinking of all any information he really had on me and what he could do with it.

Unfortunately, this man was persistent. I began receiving texts from the email, telling me I’m not gonna “be smart” and run away with his money. I was so terrified I began pretending that I was my own parent and that I was confused as to why he was looking to contact my child. For some reason, he bought this. We interact briefly and he tells me that I need to “talk to my child” and get him his money in 24 hours or he’ll be opening an FBI case.

I then reach a realization: I need to actually tell my parent. So, I text them at the early hour of 3 AM telling them I fucked up badly. We call and I tell everything, about the debt and the man and the threats—all of it.

Now, I’ve come clean and my parent is helping me pick up the pieces and figure out the next step. Hard lesson learned, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.

TLDR: I met a man through Instagram DMs who wanted to help pay off my credit card debt. I allowed him to do so and when I refused to purchase gift cards for him on my credit card, he began threatening me. I ended up telling my parent and learning a hard lesson.

Yes, it’s okay to roast me. Financial desperation apparently destroys your critical analysis skills.

About a month ago I admitted to the Internet I was too fat to travel and visit my dying father. If you missed the post, here it is: https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/zmjalp/tifu_by_topping_550_lbs/

I honestly didn't expect the overwhelming positive comments on my original post. Time will tell if this was my "aha moment", but something did click when I read through the comments. I knew I had to try harder, if not for me then for my father (was in Hospital ICU), so I did. Below is that journey.

To recap, I needed to find a way to physically transport myself between two major cities of quite some distance, transport myself between houses and hospitals, and face my family and friends at hopefully what would be my final biggest size. I couldn't drive/have a friend drive me between the cities as this would be a several days journey and my friendships aren't that strong.

I first started with what I distilled as a freight transport issue to solve.

I found 3 medical transport specialist companies and 11 companies that had 'we'll deliver anything' marketing material. While I continued to have positive correspondence, all options were exhausted quite quickly. If you're wondering - two companies laughed directly at me, two hung up on me, and one suggested an option which was $12k and I had to sign a waiver (was the sketchiest of the options). None of the medical transport specialists would help given the distance to travel.

I next turned to the airlines. One was quite helpful and convinced me it would be better and cheaper to buy a business class seat which had extra wide seat and more leg room over buying a neighboring seat. I used public transport to get to the airport (surprisingly went well), got to the plane, and then ... I didn't fit in the seat. The armrests weren't adjustable. I tried to wedge myself in but my thigh would hard press against the backrest adjustment button so there was no way to keep the seat upright. I didn't get to the seatbelt issue, and there were no other seats available. I was rejected from the flight.

Several emotions and events happened afterwards. I wouldn't be flying that day and I lied to my family why I wouldn't be flying.

The airline called me the next day and offered me two economy seats at the same business class ticket price (time of year and last-minute tickets elevated the economy class ticket prices). The plane had rows of 3 and I didn't want to risk anything, so I bought another seat so I had the entire row. Given the time of the year, that one seat almost cost me the same as the original ticket cost. The middle seat armrests could be lifted. While one flight assistant had a problem with it being up on takeoff, that was my only option so we needed to go with it. The seatbelt extender wasn't an issue - they had it on hand. I was quite nervous about that but they proactively brought it to me without asking. Yeah I know, the need was obvious.

I hadn't told my family I would be flying again in fear I'd run into another problem, and with a bit of a positive buzz from a successful flight I thought I'd surprise them. I tried two taxis - I couldn't get in the car. I tried a minivan taxi, and I couldn't wear the seatbelt. One taxi driver refused to look at me and locked their doors. I then decided to use public transport. This turned out to being a four-hour journey as nothing was direct, but I made it to my parents' house.

After all of that I couldn't find a way to transport myself to the hospital to see my father. I tried to sit in my mother's car in advance but wouldn't fit, so I lied again and said I had a bunged knee and couldn't bend it when it came to visiting him. She didn't overly question this, but I'm sure she knew the real reason.

After 28 days my father was released from the hospital on Christmas day. I saw him at my parents' house. He is doing a lot better, has long Covid, and he never said anything to me about my weight. All of the family conversations were centered around my father. I couldn't find a way to start a conversation about myself either, even with my mother whom I'm the closest with. For another time. My mother suggested I use a different bathroom for showering. It had a bigger door to access it. I declined and squeezed into the usual bathroom. On reflection, she was trying to help me and be more comfortable. I'm an idiot for not picking up on this in the moment.

I lied again when I returned home, saying I would catch a taxi as I had an ungodly hour of a flight. I repeated everything in reverse.

As for my health, I have started another attempt at weight loss. I got a reading on my bathroom scales on Sunday for the first time - 555 lbs (252 kg). My only positive from this is thinking that because I have a reading my weight must have declined from whatever it was over Christmas as previously my scales would error with maximum weight exceeded.

Being morbidly obese sucks. I'm going to attempt to change that for me this year.

EDIT: I'm updating this post nearly 2 weeks after posting it. Similar to my first post, I wasn't prepared for all of the support and comments. It truly was unexpected. For those that gave awards, thank you, but you shouldn't have. What I did wasn't brave or heroic, and without my father being in the situation he was in I doubt I would have pushed myself this hard to make myself see him. That aside I did learn some things about myself and the world I interact with as a result of this journey, and these will stay with me.

I've included below additional information in relation to the various questions and discussions many have shared. Hopefully this helps to further shape your view of my situation, and for those that are perhaps in a similar situation.

• Not all airlines have a passenger of size policy. The airline choices that I had no such policy. The only thing offered to me was business class with wider seats, an exit row with extra leg room at extra cost, and the option to purchase additional neighboring seats. None of these options came with a discount.
• I've seen many medical professionals over the years including those that specialise in weight loss. I have a medical care plan, have had blood work done, and I've seen a cardiologist. Without going into all of the specifics I hadn't found a path with any of them that provided a strong direction to pursue treatment A, surgery B, nutrition plan C etc. Some of the reason for that is definitely on me, but I also haven't felt the medical industry more broadly has been that accommodating for my situation.
• Many people have provided recommendations for certain weight loss related drugs. This isn't for me. I've pretty much had no tablet/drug in my whole life besides vaccines. Maybe I have a phobia of this external help?
• My entire family are related to the medical/health industry in some way. I think this has negatively impacted my confidence to ask for help. Bizarre I know, but maybe I'm just intimidated. Plus, I'm the only fat one in the family.
• A few people have suggested I may have an eating disorder. I haven't provided a lot of details around why I'm fat from the perspective of what I eat, but I will share that I know what is good food for me vs bad, I know what good portion sizes looks like, and I know when I'm eating in a way that is bad for me. Maybe for me I have a disorder, or an addiction. A medical professional would need to label it. I will need to consciously and continuously force myself to make good choices over relying on setting good habits.
• Real life doesn't really cater for morbidly obese people. I don't encourage acceptance, but more can be done to accommodate our needs, even if its just to help us move around for medical appointments and utilise the most basic human services. You can charge us more for it - for me, it is the price I must pay for the poor choices I've made.
• I've continued to lose weight each week from the time of this post. I'm making an effort to keep this trend going.

TL;DR: I got laughed at by freight companies trying to ship my fat self like a large box, was rejected from a flight for being fat, paid a fortune for new airplane tickets, lied to my family about travelling complications, and managed to see my father in person after he survived a near death experience from health complications.

Alt account BTW. Also, sorry for any confusion I make typing this. I try to keep my stories short, so I will leave out a bit of details.

So, this happened a while ago actually, I (17M) remember the exact day I was admitted to the psych ward. It was the day after New Years (great start to the year).

I won't mention how I ended up in a mental hospital, but I will hint that it involves drug use.

Also, just so you guys know, a psych ward isn't what it's like in the movies. It's actually rather...chill and I personally found it a good place to express myself and be a better person than I was beforehand. ~~I recommend it highly if you feel like you ever feel like you're on the "edge"~~

Anyway, after about two days of being there and surprisingly making a lot of mentally ill friends, I meet a girl (16), let's call her Ashley. Going into the psychward, Ashley was the first person to catch my eye. She was extremely attractive and very friendly after getting to talk to her.

We would talk everyday constantly, and I ended up asking for her Instagram on the both of our last days at the psychward. While waiting for our rides, I remember Ashley asking straight up "Do you want to kiss".

At first I thought she was trolling so I laughed and told her to stop playing. She told me she was serious, while adding a smirk to her face.

I was still suspicious, so I told her to lean in first. She did, so I decided to as well, and to my surprise, we ended up kissing. The first kiss was short and more of a puck. Then we kissed again, and then again, and then it turned into a makeout session. Keep in mind, we are still in the psychward, just in a area where there are no cameras or nurses watching.

Then after a few minutes of kissing, I heard my name be yelled by one of the nurses saying my mom was here. So I awkwardly wave to her goodbye and excitedly skip to my freedom while saying goodbye to my other mentally ill friends.

So, I'm out the psychward. I feel good, and everything is good, but I ended up forgetting Ashley's Instagram so I didn't bother to try and look for her.

So, a week pasts, and I'm in school when suddenly I get called to the office. My mom is here to pick me up. I ask her why she came unannounced, and she told me a detective had called her and left her a voice mail telling me to come to the [town name] police department to talk about something that happened at the mental hospital I was issued at.

I get scared obviously, because I have no clue as to why needed to see a DETECTIVE.

We make it to the police station and I go in and was greeted to the Detective. He makes me walk with him alone to a room where we both sat down. I felt like I was in a damn movie.

He has a few files on the table along with a recorder thing. It was small.

He says that I can leave at anytime and not answer any questions at will, and then starts by asking simple questions like "Why I was in [town name] Hospital" and "What people did I see?"

So I'm thinking that maybe someone got murdered and I was a witness. Then the Detective drops the bomb.

"I brought you in today, because a lady is saying you sexually assaulted her".

I genuinely gasped aloud and got really defensive (I must've looked really sus). I said "who said I SA them??" And "I would never do that what the fuck?"

The Detective pulls out this photo and it's a photo of Ashley. He asks if I know her and I say yes.

Then, I tell him everything from what I knew. I said that she gave me 100% permission to kiss her, and that I didn't force myself onto her nor make her DO anything. She was the one that asked first and leaned in first. I thought to myself how could she do this to me. The first week I get out a psychward and now I'm instantly being accused of sexually assault?

The Detective stops the recording thing and says that's all for today. He told me if I did do anything without consent, they would find out (trying to intimidate me) and that I should confess now.

I shouldn't of have even said anything without a lawyer. That was also my fuck up.

The Detective calls in my mom privately and then we both leave. My mom was angry too, basically on my side.

So...what happened after that? Nothing. The case was dropped I guess because I never got a call back from that Detective or from any cops. I also called the police department to ask about the case, and they said that it didn't exist.

Honestly, fuck Ashley. And fuck me. I learned something that day: Don't fucking kiss anyone in a damn mental hospital. They are there for a reason. I was there for a reason. To get better. Not to get whatever the fuck that was.

TL;DR: I kissed a girl in a psychward which led to a case about me "sexually assaulting" her even though it was consensual. I also spoke without a lawyer

Edit: those who are saying "fake StoRy", fuck off. You're telling me you'll believe stories like "my girlfriend turned into buzz lightyear and fucked me in my ass" than some non-dramatic story like this (kinda).

And yes, I'm hiding behind a screen saying fighting words. Bite me redditors. BITE. ME.

But anyway, ty to all the stories some told and advice given. Appreciate it <3i love reddit.

I did not believe my senior prank would backfire on me as hard as it did, but here we are.

This happened a couple of weeks ago but it's too funny not to talk about.

So I (18m) came out with the amazing idea to participate in the senior pranks in my school. There weren't many pranks being made at the school to begin with so it was kind of a disappointing way to end of the school year. For some background, my school has about 1,000 people in it, so it's relatively small; That also means word spreads incredibly quick, this is also important.

I came up with the genius idea to create a "mandatory penis inspection" that was going to be run by someone with the name of "Dixie Normis" and had it labeled as a graduation requirement. How did I come up with such a genius idea? The internet! More specifically, a reddit post with a similar idea. I cobbled up the document on my school Chromebook, working on and off on it for the next couple of weeks. Adding a tweak here, editing a date here, changing the wording there, forgetting it here and there. Eventually I found my time to strike and I was elated that some of my friends found it humorous and encouraged this prank to be done.

Now the setup; I've been in the school theater club for about 3 years now, I've familiarized myself with the way it works and the way rehearsals usually work out. I found my opportunity to strike, the 8 pm rehearsal days. I left for home, bringing a roll of scotch tape and the magnum opus that I created on my school Chromebook. I waited until rehearsals started and conjured my plan while I was tuning my guitars. I would wait until the 5 minute break before I strike on the unsuspecting school. So I did just that, a couple hours past after the final bell of the day rang and I conveniently had to take a bathroom break. Additionally, it was extremely convenient that the baseball team had just left the bathroom in question which gave me the impression that I would have something to fall back on if my genius plan did not go according. I stood in front of the door, the restroom unsuspecting on how I was about to defile it- and so I struck. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I dug through my bookbag pulling out my folder and pulling out the roll of scotch tape and tainting the stalls with my product. After 1 short minute, my prank was complete. I walked out of the bathroom pretending to be oblivious to what had just transpired and I kept it that way.

The next day, I woke up to dozens of reposts of the supposed "Mandatory Penis Inspections" that were supposed to happen at school the following day. It spread quickly among grade levels, the post being shared over and over again on different profiles, being exposed to different eyes each time. It got to a point where the school was alerted and then became a taboo topic to speak about. Any mention from that day about the penis inspection was met with scolding and threats of detention. Seniors and underclassmen were called down to the office by the number, only to be met with interrogating about what had transpired.

Here's where I fucked up. Not only did I forget about the camera that's in the hallway in front of the bathroom, but the fact it was only the theater club and baseball team in the school which narrowed the suspects down quite significantly. Did I also mention the day of the inspection was the day of the theater production? Nope. I did not. This amalgamation of "Not onlys" created quite the interesting scenario for the following day. I had slept in the day of the show, my plan to show up during my last period to show up before we began to ready the equipment and leave enough time to touch up any areas that might be work. I woke up to various missed calls by one of my band members, telling me that I fucked up and that I was in a lot of shit. One thing came to mind: The penis inspection. My bandmate had told me that I was at risk of getting kicked out of the show or even having the show canceled altogether (a production that we had been working on for about 3 months at the time) and having my graduation revoked if measures were to be taken that drastically. He told me that the principal required me at school that instant and threatened me with various disciplinary measures.

I rushed to school, frantically getting out of the house and sprinting down the sidewalk trying to get to school as quickly as possible. When I finally got to the school, I was greeted by the ever so friendly Ring doorbell summoning me to the office that instant. I timidly entered, trying my best to play stupid- I was being scolded for missing most of the school day. My moment of relief was quickly cut short by the piercing yell of my name down the office. My principal looked at me with a fiery scowl, eyeing me down across the room like a lion readying for it's next kill. She told me to go on with my day and that we were going to have a pleasant chat after.

My body was filled with terror the remaining 3 periods. I trudged through the hallways with ice in my veins, terrified of the impending scolding later. Fast forward to the end of the school day, I was walking down the hallway when I heard my name being called on the intercom. My body froze, my heart skipped a beat, and my mind went numb for an instant. I had felt the cold hand of death on my very body that instant. Knowing very well this was self inflicted, I had no escape as my legs walked to the office, my body wanting to run the opposite direction. What justification did I have for this you may ask? If you know it was going to cause this much of a turmoil, WHAT could possibly be the justification? It's funny. I walked with a pale face down to the office and was called down into the principal's personal office. The door slammed behind me and I stood before my principal, my stomach in my throat. She pulled out one of the inspection papers and slide it on the desk across to me, "Do you recognize this?" She began to read the first sentence and I could see the stern look on her face breaking slowly. She began to have a change of heart and wanted me to take accountability of it and realize that it was indeed- a fuckup. I was allowed to participate in the show (as the lead guitarist!) and I also am able to let this slide with little to no consequence with the only notable punishment not being able to participate in a school BBQ the following week which wasn't exactly world ending to me, but all is well.

TL;DR My senior prank spread a little too quickly and it backfired horribly on me, but I escaped with a slap on the wrist.

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(poster in question https://imgur.com/a/Px1v7JV)

Obligatory this didn't happen today, but was actually a few years ago... but I'm sure you people of reddit will still be able to enjoy my pain.

So, as the title suggests, I like spicy things. I have a large collection of hot sauce at home, I have tried most of the world's super hot peppers and I've won numerous hot wing challenges. Usually I'm fine, but as I've aged occasionally I find that my stomach suffers. Nothing too extreme, but a lot of noise and sometimes a bit of ring of fire.

Cut to the day of this specific incident. I live I a medium sized city in Canada. My brother in law used to live in another city about 140 km/90 miles away... so for context (and this becomes important) about an hour and a half by car. This day in particular, we went to visit so we could drive him back to our house for the weekend.

Now, we did this pretty often. Usually when we do, we find a restaurant to grab a bite to eat before we head home. The last few times we went, we found a small pub that specialized in Buffalo wings. At the back of the menu they advertised a hot wing challenge where if you finished their hottest wings, you eat free. Without an ounce of hesitation, I ordered the challenge wings. The waitress asked, "Are you sure?" to which I replied, "I like hot foods, and I can't turn down an opportunity to eat free wings!" She laughed and got my wings. They were hot, but I had definitely eaten hotter. And so, I got my free wings. Paid for my girlfriends meal and my beer and went on my way.

In the coming months, I did this twice more. Each time, the waitress would ask "Are you sure?" Each time I would say yes. Each time I got free wings. It was wonderful.

Cut to this last time... we go to our favorite wing place. We waltz in with an air of familiarity and seat ourselves. The waitress, whom I later find out is the owner, comes to take our order. My girlfriend, daughters and brother in law all order and the waitress turns to me and asks what I'll be having. I say, "I'd like to do the hot wing challenge please!" The waitress once again asks, "Are you sure?"

This is where I fucked up. I stupidly told her, "Oh yeah! I've done this lots!" Dear reader... when you tell the owner of an establishment that you've already eaten a free meal at their place and now you're just there to fleece them out of another order of wings, they do NOT take it well. Our previously friendly waitress turns to me and coldly says, "Oh have you? Then this should be easy for you." It was not.

My wings came and everyone's eyes went wide and they leaned away from my meal. Instantly, everyone's eyes water and the waitress/owner grins a big, toothy, mirthless grin. She says, "Enjoy!" and walked away.

I cannot convey to you in mere words the pain I suffered eating these wings. I took my first bite and it was searing doom. An explosion of nuclear fire blanketed my palate, not unlike what I'm sure the people at Pompeii would have experienced during the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. My body began shivering and sweating. A river of snot and tears ran from my face. Twice I went to the washroom to cry to myself and question my life choices. Though no one expected me to finish...I endured.

When it was finally over, everyone was silent. We paid without a word, and left. In the car, my girlfriend turned to me and tentatively asked, "Are you OK?" When I just nodded in the affirmative, she asked "Are you sure?" I just looked at her, expressionless. We began our drive home.

Again, I would like to reiterate that generally I don't experience much in the way of after effects from spicy foods. This was different though. I could feel the burn in my esophagus still, right down to my stomach. And my stomach was getting worse. I was getting bloated and uncomfortable. About a half hour into this hour and a half drive is becoming increasingly uncomfortable to the point where I'm shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat. My girlfriend again asks if I'm OK. I tell her, "Something is off." She suggested stopping to use the bathroom, which I declined...I wasn't sure what was going to happen, and I felt like it had best be at home when it did instead of some filthy gas station restroom.

An hour into the drive and this discomfort is full on pain. Bad pain. I step on the gas, blowing well past the speed limit. I didn't care...I just needed to get home. My stomach had decided that it was no longer going to house these abominations and one way or the other, they were coming out.

When we finally got there, I put the car in park and ran to the front door. I fumbled with my keys while everyone else got out of the car. The door finally opened and I vaulted up the stairs four at a time while simultaneously undoing my pants. It was a race to the toilet- and I was losing. Just as I got to the bathroom it happened. I got the door mostly closed before a violent spray erupted from my asshole, painting the back of the door and the floor. To minimize the splash zone, I made an executive decision... the bathtub instead of the toilet.

I launched myself into the tub, and started doing my best to get my clothes off. All the while, I'm violently shitting and throwing up all over myself. My girlfriend, god love her, came upstairs and, with a look of absolute disgust at my vile bodily expulsions, took my dirty clothes away and cleaned the door, walls and floor.

She came back upstairs after starting the laundry and turned the shower on to my battered, burning body. I was cowering in the fetal position as the warm water hit me, still amazed at the lashback a pound of spicy Buffalo wings was able to put forth. She asked me in a sweet voice if I had learned my lesson. I feebly replied, "Yes." I lied.

TLDR; I thought I could handle some hot wings, only to have the chef create something insanely hotter than expected and ended up destroying my bathroom.

Addendum post edit: The place was called "Tammy's Queen of Wings" in North Bay... and it was 100% my own fault. My ego got the best of me. They do make you sign a small waiver, and it's just the wings and any non-alcoholic beverages the wing eater orders that come free. Everyone else's food has to be paid for.

Second addendum: Whoa... this got a lot of traction! A few more answers, for those who are curious. The restaurant in question is closed permanently... which sucks, because spicy or not the wings were pretty good. I didn't suffer any long term ill effects, and I don't have an ulcer (thank God!). We're in no rush to get married, but still kinda like each other's faces.
... And lastly, this was NOT the last time it happened 😉

TIFU Obligatory this happened last year. I luckily have a new job.

It was Father’s Day 2022. My boss on my team of 10 sends a photo of his entire family including his 3 baby grand children, 3 kids, their spouses(his daughter doesn’t have a spouse) and his wife.

My boss is not a good looking man. The face only a blind mother could love. Unfortunately for his family, especially the female offspring, his genes are strong as fuck. I also hate my boss with a passion. He had also just brought his lazy son who is about my age onto the team and I was taken out of all client interaction because his son needed “exposure”. His son regularly fapped in the work bathroom with people sitting next to him but that’s another story.

I luckily had one really good work friend on my team who also hated my boss but he was higher up and didn’t really need to deal with him as much. As this work group chat is going off we are just ripping into his family. We were both pretty tipsy because fuck it; it’s Father’s Day and we’re not fathers. This entire time we were joking like how crazy would it be if we accidentally sent to the wrong chat. I was laughing(or loling because it was text) at him like he would be an idiot to send to the wrong chat.

I had a Eureka moment. I’m pretty good with face in the hole and use it often for funny memes. I face in the holed his ugly face onto his entire family except for his daughter. This included his 2 sons, 3 grand daughters, his wife and two daughter in laws. I made this thing a masterpiece. I was using tone, contrast, switched angles to match everything. It was the Mona Lisa of fucked up face in hole. The best part is you couldn’t even tell that his daughters wasn’t face in the holed and that his granddaughters were photoshopped.

In pure excitement of this masterpiece I created I saved it ans immediately sent it to my buddy waiting for my glorious applause. As I sent it all of a sudden a text notification at the top comes up from my work buddy that’s says “WTF?????”. It took me a second to register that I just sent that to my entire team. I hadn’t said anything in the group chat at all up to this point. My first message was this picture that had multiple layers of fucked up. I litterally jump up from the couch and throw my phone against the couch saying “oh no oh no oh no” and start profusely sweating and pacing frantically in the living room. My fight or flight response kicked in and I wanted to run like Forrest Gump. My wife freaks out thinking I just found out I had cancer or something and I told her what happened. She had no idea the fucked up shit we were sending, she had just heard me giggling like a little school girl across from the couch. She immediately tries to calm me down saying it’s probably not that bad. I show her the picture and her jaw drops. “Ok we need to think of something” I call my buddy who is laughing hysterically at my stupidity and I’m like you need to bombard the chat so hopefully he doesn’t see it. He starts sending messages and asks people how their Father’s Day was to get more interaction as I am just panicking/sweating/contemplating quitting before I could get fired z My wife ends up having a genius plan by telling me to text “happy Father’s Day “boss’s name” to you and your mini mes” which I thought was genius but i sent it like 15 minutes and 20 messages later so it was random at that point and maybe put more attention to it.

My buddy tells me ur other coworker texted him on the side “wtf did babyboyblue just send? Is he trying to get fired? Also what wasn’t “bosses daughters name” the only one not photo shopped”

It was like 9 PM at this point and my wife is trying to console me but i could tell she was worried too. Like “maybe your boss didn’t see that photo where you photoshopped his ugly face onto his entire family including his baby granddaughters”

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I just rolled around sweating thinking about wtf I am going to say to him and explain myself. Do I come up to him first and apologize? Do I wait and pray that he didn’t see it? I went through every possible scenario in my head and they all sucked. Ops i accidentally slipped and photoshopped your face on your entire family and then sent to group chat.

I get ready for work early because I legit couldn’t sleep. It felt like a prisoner on death row making his last walk but I didn’t get a tastey last meal because I felt like I was going to vomit. I’m the first one in the office and I’m pretending to work and trying to play it cool. Our assistants come in and I’m thinking alright be sharp here and act like nothing happened. THEY SAY NOTHING about it like they didn’t see me insult our bossses entire family via a masterpiece face in the hole. I’m starting to calm down thinking no one saw it. Then my work buddy comes in and he’s just dying laughing which brings my anxiety up. He can see me from my his office so every time a new coworker comes in his eyes get wide like oh shit here it comes as he’s chuckling. No one says anything. Then the moment of truth comes and my fat ugly boss walks in with his fat ugly son. I start sweating again (wtf btw such a shitty response to fear). He just walks by me and says nothing, no hi, no good morning, just nothing. Ok, kinda weird for him but not bad. I’m watching his every move like I’m some psycho analyst trying to read a serial killers body language. Nothing happens and I’m convincing myself he didn’t see. Maybe my face in the hole was so good that he thought I just sent the original photo back.

12:00 PM comes by and he comes up to me and says “baby boy blue want to grab some lunch” “I’m good not hungry I had a big breakfast” “well walk with me across the street to get food” “uhhhh alright I guess”. The time had come. I didn’t get away easily. As we were walking out my buddy army saluted me like it was the lasast time he would see me.

He starts with small talk and I can barely answer because I’m just thinking how I would come up with an excuse. I have to wait for this fucker to get his stupid salad bar as I’m starting to sweat again. I looked like a walking food violation because the sweat was coming through my work shirt. We walk back and he’s asking about my career aspirations and all these thing. This guy did not mention it the entire time! He was just 100% mind fucking me and it worked. It was honestly worse then if he had just called it out. I got back to work and I was safe. No one else on the team mentioned it again. My buddy would always randomly send me the photo while working just to fuck with me. I ended up quitting about 6 months later for a much better job. Thinking about sending it to that chat again next Father’s Day as a fuck you.

TL;DR I was drunk and me and my coworker were sending fucked up things about a photo my boss sent of his ugly face and his family in work group chat. I photoshopped his head on his entire family including his baby granddaughters. I only left his daughter not photoshopped because she unfortunately looks the most like him. I then accidentally sent to the work group chat. Thought I was getting fired. My boss just mind fucks me and never mentions it.

TIFU by kissing my dead grandma on the forehead.

I (41F) was fortunate enough to spend the majority of the last two weeks with my dying grandma (89F) who has been in the late stages of dementia. My mom (71F) had brought her to the family house as she was growing concerned about Grandma's care at the nursing home. Mom is a bit of a holistic sort of lady and was hoping a diet of good food and a lot of beet/carrot/green juice might perk Grandma up. (I hate that Grandma's last foods were carrot/beet/spinach juice - I'd probably refuse to drink that too)

My sister (43, former paramedic) had kept a very close eye on her and spent the week helping feed, change, and keep Grandma as comfortable as possible. Her body was very frail and only around 90 pounds at the end. She especially became concerned last Saturday as Grandma was having increased difficulty swallowing and had been refusing food/juice/water. (Aspiration is a very real concern as is pneumonia from asperating) After an ER visit and hospital stay, lab work, CT scans, and swallowing tests the doctors recommended hospice care.

Our family was lucky enough to have my grandma comfortably set up in the great room of my mom's home. We had five generations of women with her at the end. Her daughter (my mom), 4 granddaughters (myself included), 3 great-granddaughters, and 1 great-great-great granddaughter. How cool is that?!

What folks don't tell you is a death watch is pretty fucked-up. You sit there counting respirations, checking blood oxygen levels and just waiting. My grandma's last words were on Thursday when she was cursing out my step-sibling that had gotten up in her face shouting "I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!" - but that is another story for another time. (she left shortly after) By Friday afternoon Grandma had been completely unconscious for over 24 hours. Her respirations were slowing, blood oxygen levels were below 80. My grandpa (83M) had come to say his last goodbyes and shit was getting real.

By the early evening, she was breathing was quick and shallow as her oxygen levels continued to fall and her pulse increased as her body tried to compensate. We held her hand and waited for the inevitable.

It hits nighttime and we are all sharing our favorite stories about Grandma. (My oldest sister had the best stories! It was so cool to hear more about my Grandma's early life) She was a feisty piece of work: a Roller-Derby-playing, pot-smoking/growing, would-hide-a-body-for-you, Puerto Rican beauty. Heck, I remember quite vividly how she used a machete as a tool of all trades in the garden and told me she used it for therapy when she was whacking out roots... she would imagine people who had pissed her off or hurt the people she loved and just go all in.

Anyway, at 9:17 pm she takes her last breath. It was pretty dramatic, to be honest. Not some soft last exhale - but this drawn-in craziness with a gurgling exhale. It was something you'd see in a movie. Had the rest not happened I would call it borderline traumatic. Of course, people are crying and understandably upset. My RN sister checks all of her vitals and confirms - she's gone.

At this point, I wasn't crying. It was kind of strange to just watch this happen. It didn't feel real. After a minute my RN sister is calling hospice to let them know she has passed and I decided that I should go ahead and say my final goodbyes to Grandma. I lean down and gently stroke her hair, then tenderly give her a sweet last kiss on her forehead and whisper "I love you, Grandma." This was it. She was gone. No more suffering. She was at peace.

Suddenly she breathes in with a breath you hear from folks who just had undergone CPR after drowning. Or maybe the sound of someone who had inhaled too much pot, had been coughing, and then was catching their breath? I don't know... but it was loud, it was quick, and it scared the shit out of me.

Y'all need to know that I'm a huge chicken, okay? I don't watch "scary" movies or even movies that are sort of "intense" and I only will watch those during daylight hours. I detest jump-scares. At this point, I'm convinced that Grandma was trying to take me with her by causing me to have a fright-induced massive heart attack. She tried to scare me to death. The good news is this gets the rest of the family laughing... you know the stress-induced slight hysteria laughter - it was that. I start sobbing, a full-on ugly cry. It was just a lot of emotion and that was the tipping point for me.

An hour passes and Grandma is still breathing, still low oxygen but hanging in there. At the 10 o'clock hour as we all wait around her - she takes her last breath and softly exhales. It's much more peaceful this time around. Cue in the waterworks of everyone (except for me). I've decided that I don't buy it. This time we have the nurse sister double and triple-check her vitals. She's gone. Nurse-sister calls hospice again. In my mind, I'm still thinking "Fool me once, shame on me... fool me twice..." I *almost* said it, but kept it to myself. Then, after a few minutes, she starts to breathe and regains a heartbeat. She had the opportunity to fuck with the rest of them - and did! I'm convinced at this point that she is just a spirit in the room laughing at all of us.

Cue in 11 pm of the death watch. I'm exhausted. Everyone is. We are emotionally drained and just spent. I reluctantly go to sleep (I'd been up since 4:30 am) only to be awakened by my paramedic sister telling me that Grandma had passed at 11:30 pm just as the rest of the group was about to leave for the night. It was 11:47 pm when she woke me up. She tells me she waited a good 15 minutes - just in case! I know it is not supposed to be funny - but it is kind of hilarious at the same time. I don't know. So this third go-round and all the tears are spent and we just sort of stand there quietly mourning while also wondering WTF just happened over the last 3 hours.

TL;DR: My grandma died, I kissed her on the forehead and she jump-scared me as she came back to life only to "die" again an hour later and come back to life (again) then die for real an hour after that.

So this story begins about 10 years ago.

I’ve always been a little different, probably on the spectrum, and was never super masculine. I was also really smart and precocious, way ahead of my peers in school. I was hyper and often asked why instead of blindly listening, but I was a good kid with a good heart. My father is a strict, authoritarian religious type who resented that I had a sensitive side and didn’t blindly follow his authority. He limited the time I could spend pursuing my hobbies because he wanted me to study and practice piano, which was his passion. He yelled at me a lot, and then would yell at me for crying.

At age of 13, I still had a 9pm bedtime, and had to ask to take a shower or get a snack. My dad would get mad when I stood to pee (because it was “dirty”), and often tried to catch me playing with myself so he could tell me it was sinful. He once caught me looking at sexy pics at 13 and yelled at me then forced me to go to confession. After that I was banned indefinitely from the internet. My door was removed. My room was regularly searched. They found my secret iPod that had Eminem and Three Days Grace on it, which was the only thing that kept me going, and they told me it was sinful music.

I wasn’t allowed to have a cell phone or go out with friends because they “didn’t trust me”…I felt so isolated and alone. I started drinking a little and cutting myself, and when my youth pastor saw my scars and told my dad, he forcibly stripped me to see them and yelled at me about how I made my mom cry herself to sleep.

Soon after I came out as gay. It was not well received, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to accept it was wrong because it went against “our family values”. I was so depressed. All I wanted was some space to be myself and some love and acceptance, but my parents thought I was some kind of monster. After a half assed suicide attempt, I was put into a mental hospital. Discharged two weeks later. And my parents sent me to three more in a row, saying “nobody understands how troubled our son is”. I kept getting discharged because there were no grounds to keep me, but my dad was paying out of pocket so getting me admitted was easy.

Finally, while I was at the fourth one, he told me that I was getting sent to a Christian boarding school in Texas indefinitely, with no access to the outside world, and that a private jet with security was taking me in 3 days. He claimed it had nothing to do with my sexuality but the admissions lady I was forced to have a phone appointment with was asking what I had done with other boys.

Here’s where I feel like I fucked up. I asked for the number to CPS and called them from the hospital. I was assigned a case worker and a judge ordered that I had to stay in my home state during the investigation. My siblings were pulled out of class asking if my parents hit them and stuff. I didn’t find this out until years later but apparently they were really traumatized and didn’t understand what was going on. My sister has always been daddy’s girl and my brother held his tongue so my dad was nicer to him. I was ultimately placed into foster care. My parents were charged with neglect and ultimately beat the charges, but it was really expensive for them, and then my dad had to pay child support until I was 18. I carry a lot of guilt.

Foster care was fairly uneventful. I aged out at 21 (I’m 27 now) and made it work for a few years, but financial difficulties along with chronic illness have forced me to live out of a vehicle for the last 2 years. I work as much as I am able and would actually make less on disability. But I can’t seem to really generate enough to get out of the situation. Currently stuck renting an expensive vehicle after mine got flooded in December, since I’m severely allergic to mold and everything in my price range gives me an asthma attack.

Previously I would see my family on holidays and call them on birthdays but I have reason to believe they suspect I’m homeless and don’t want to deal with it. My family is really well off. My sister is getting married in two weeks and I haven’t gotten an invite. A few years ago she told me “you abused the family”. Maybe I shouldn’t have shouted back at my dad. Sometimes I feel like if I could have just held my tongue and pretended to agree with their religion I wouldn’t be in this situation. I love my family a lot and I wish my existence didn’t cause so much pain for them.

TL;DR: I came out as gay at 13 and my strict, religious dad tried to have me sent to a Christian boarding school. I called CPS and my parents were charged with neglect and my siblings were traumatized by the interviews with social workers. I was put into foster care and my dad had to pay thousands a month in child support. He says “he’s already sent me to Harvard” and says I’m on my own now. I don’t know what else I could’ve done but now I’m homeless and my family feels betrayed and I feel so sad and guilty.

Edit: I had no idea so many people would see this. I really appreciate all of your comments, even the mean ones, because they are showing me how much I’ve grown in loving and accepting myself. I’ve been in therapy for a long time and for the most part recognize that I made a courageous move, but I still have moments where I blame myself- childhood trauma and gaslighting can leave us with long lasting scars. To those who say that my current situation is my own fault- you are right in the sense that I need to take personal responsibility for my life and that nobody is going to save me. I just hope someone shows y’all a little grace if things go downhill for you.

This was two months ago but adding now to see what reddit has to say as I’m still struggling. I have been married for just over two years. For the last 6 months or so my wife has been drinking heavily. Like taking shot after shot of vodka as soon as she gets home from work until she is wasted. She has done this every night for months. She can drink more than me but she weighs ~110lbs and I’m at 205lb. It’s not uncommon for her to drink half to two thirds of a bottle of whiskey or vodka in one evening. On her days off she will start drinking by 10am and be passed out by 3-4pm. I have asked her to stop, and she would say she’s trying but her pattern had not changed.

For about a week prior to the night of this post she had been saying that I am not attracted to her and how come I never wanted to have sex anymore. I told her because she’s wasted all the time and I’m not attracted to someone who is constantly drunk. We had the same argument every night for at least a week. Partially I think because she couldn’t remember us arguing about it the previous night and she would get wasted again and the argument would repeat itself.

One night two months ago I got home from work around 7pm and when I walked in the house she was on the phone. I could already tell she was hammered (swaying, slurring words etc) When I came in she looked startled and said “I have to go” and hung up the phone. I asked who she was talking to and she said a guy from her work. I asked why she looked so guilty, she said she was just talking to him but got felt guilty when I got home so she hung up. I got mad and started arguing with her. She said why can’t she think another guy is attractive and there’s nothing wrong with that. I said the issue was that she’s calling him and flirting with him and she’s my wife. I was angry and told her that I was over it and I was leaving. I packed a bag real quick and left. While leaving she kept saying I don’t want you to go and grabbed my wrist to try to keep me from leaving. I pulled away and left the house.

I was driving around just trying to calm down thinking about what to do/where to go. I really didn’t want to go home and deal with her being wasted and arguing all night. I eventually booked a hotel not too far away and figured I’d crash the night there and hopefully me leaving would make her change her behavior.

Shortly after checking into my hotel, my front door camera went off showing her leaving the house. At that point I just shut down. My mind was racing on what to do and I also thought fuck you then I guess it’s over. I sat in my hotel room for about 20 min stressing out. When I realized I couldn’t just sit there, I went back home. Her car was still there so I knew she must’ve gotten picked up. I was just so mad that I sat with my dog and thought about how I was going to have to get divorced and sell my house and move and all the things. She still wasn’t home about 3 hrs later so I finally tried calling several times with no answer. I don’t know why I didn’t call sooner I was just angry and was thinking she made up her mind and fuck her basically.

The next morning, she came home around 9:30am, I didn’t sleep at all because I was freaking out all night. She said do you want to talk about it? I asked where she was, and she said she was at the coworker’s house. I blew up and told her she’s a terrible a person and an alcoholic and a piece of shit. She said she had called him because she couldn’t get our air fryer to work and wanted a ride to McDonalds to get some food. She said she didn’t remember getting to his house and she took longer to get home because she was hoping it was all a bad dream. At first, she told me she only kissed him and didn’t want to get divorced and that she would look into counseling. After I agreed to try if she quit drinking and went to counseling, she told me that she did sleep with him and didn’t want to lie to me. I told her I want a divorce and she just kept saying that she didn’t, and she wanted to work things out.

It's been two months now and we’ve been sleeping in different rooms. She hasn’t been getting wasted but still drinks wine occasionally but hasn’t touched hard liquor since the event. The coworker quit his job so they no longer work together. We’ve been going to couples counseling, but I still can’t get over her going out and fucking someone when she’s supposed to be my wife. I know she was wasted but how much of an excuse can that really be, and I don’t know if I can continue with our marriage after this.

TLDR: I caught my alcoholic wife flirting with someone on the phone, I said fuck you and left the house. She then left the house and cheated on me. Now she wants to work on our marriage.

EDIT: I was trying to keep it short and 5 paragraphs of my issues was more than I ever wanted online hence this throwaway account. Thank you for all of your advice and kind words.

I should've clarified, she did not start drinking 6 months ago. It's been going on for several years, it just wasnt every day. In the last 6 months it was every single day. I would regularly bring up that she was drinking too much and she always told me she was trying and working on it. She'd stop for a week or so then go back at it. When she would get really bad she'd cry and say that I dont care about her anymore. Every January for the last 3 years I did the no alcohol for the month and this was the first year she didnt join me. That made January fucking miserable.

Therapy has been helpful but thank you to those of you that recommended my own therapist as well. I had one solo session with our therapist but finding someone separate sounds like a good idea.

I'm sure reading this, it seems obvious that I should just leave (or should've already). I have been trying to make it work because I do love her when shes sober. We did virtually everything together outside work. Her drinking has slowly isolated us over the years. I dont invite friends over anymore because she gets wasted every time and I'm left trying to act like it's normal. Our friends and I all like to drink but shes the only one that gets wasted, which we've spoken about many times. Ive literally carried her out of every wedding we've been to excluding our own for at least the last 6 years.

I have put in some effort to make it work because I guess I have just wanted my life back (house,garden,dog, sober wife) but as my therapist and some of you have said that life is over now since she cheated and it's rebuilding a whole new life. That's why I'm still struggling after 2 months. I dont think I'll get over it. My therapist said I probably have ADHD based on how I overthink everything and thats why I tend to lose focus easily in conversations. That was one thing that made my wife think I didnt care about her anymore btw.

I posted it on TIFU because I do continually think that if I hadn't left or had called sooner things may have been different. However I do realize it was more than likely inevitable whether that night or the next.

She has cut way back on drinking since everything happened. I just dont know if its sustainable or forgivable.

I have always thought of myself as rather intelligent; my wife says I am on par with an average chimp or octopus, and I'm proud of that fact. I recently had the opportunity to engage in a battle of wits with a squirrel, which I thought would have been an occasion I'd be able to rise to, given my recent triumph over the dog whom I tricked into thinking the ball had disappeared. Alas...

We have a backyard with a nice garden that my wife designed and built. She's really proud of it and finds a lot of relaxation working in it.

I work from home, and recently, I noticed that we've got a daily visitor: a squirrel who likes to poke around and look for food. I usually see him while making breakfast, so I usually stand by the window and watch him forage. Well about a week ago, I saw him bury an acorn (or some kind of nut) in the fresh soil my wife had just put down. I had this bright idea that I'd go out there and put a handful of mixed nuts in there with the one he buried. I thought this was genius-level trolling. I was so amused at my idea that the next day I even stood by the window, watching him look for the spot where he had buried the nut, and I was mumbling shit to myself like "foolish squirrel" and "you know nothing."

Well anyways the squirrel unburied his nut and he found it had apparently manifested a ton of other nuts, and the look on his face was hilarious. I mean he was visibly shocked, and quickly buried the whole stash again, then ran up a tree and sat there watching / guarding it from other squirrels. At this point I was so pleased with myself, I spent the whole day cracking up at the thought of this squirrel, and then at like 2AM I was struck with an even more genius idea: I went outside and buried even more nuts in his stash, like three times more than I had put there originally.

I couldn't sleep the rest of the night because I was too excited about this squirrel checking in on his stash again. I probably should have realized that work-from-home has truly loosened my grip on reality after two years, because at this point I found myself sitting at the window at 5AM waiting for this damned squirrel to show up, and just giggling and talking to myself like "oh yeah he's gonna trip out."

The squirrel finally showed up and he checked in on his hoard, and the look on his face was indescribable. He was so flabbergasted by what he found that he actually looked over both shoulders and all around the yard, as if to say, "Are you shittin' me? Is anybody else fuckin' seeing this?!" He just sat there inspecting the hoard for like ten or fifteen minutes, frantically trying to figure out how to manage his newfound wealth, and in this moment I realized that the squirrel faced the same philosophical dilemma as most lottery winners when they incur a giant windfall of cash and have zero idea how to properly handle it. His anxieties became mine, and I found myself thinking, I would probably not fare any better were I to win millions of dollars.

Eventually the squirrel divided the stash into a few smaller piles and buried them all within a few inches of each other. I don't know why he did this, but maybe it has something to do with the investor warning about many eggs in one basket. He was so affixed to his hoard now that he had a hard time leaving it, but when he finally did, I spent the rest of the day thinking of how to ratchet up the drama that was unfolding between us. This preoccupation gave way to a sort of Lovecraftian madness, where all day long I experienced ghoulish, intrusive thoughts about the funniest shit I could do to this squirrel's stash. Eventually I concluded that I needed to end the game and level the economic playing field among the squirrel population in the most communist way I could, lest this little bastard use his resource advantage to create some evil rodent monopoly or attempt to purchase a squirrel social media platform and torpedo it with cocaine-fueled incompetence to the benefit of totalitarian dictator squirrels overseas.

So I went outside that night and reclaimed all of the nuts I'd given him, but I left him the one single nut he had initially buried. And when he came back the next day, he absolutely lost his shit, and was running all over the wooden fence and up and down the trees, searching for the culprit who had ripped him off. The amount of twitching and rage-chirping he did was enough to disturb the nearby birds. I felt like a god then, lording over the fate of puny mortal squirrels who ventured into my yard, and I couldn't help but realize that if this squirrel had taken at least some of the nuts with him to another location, he'd have profited a great deal. The foolish creature learned the hard way that the "HODL" mentality does not always yield insane ROI; sometimes you ride the wave to zero and end up with an empty wallet and your fuzzy little squirrel dick in your hand. I, like the market, can be a capricious mistress.

When I went to bed that night I eagerly told my wife about my cruel shenanigans, and she laughed pretty hard at the story. However, the next morning when we woke up, the squirrel had absolutely devastated the garden, having dug scores of holes and pulling up little flowers and plants searching for his lost treasure. My wife is super pissed at me and this weekend I have to go fix the garden. I am not allowed to buy mixed nuts or interact with squirrels anymore.

TL;DR: Played a trick on a squirrel that backfired hard. Wife is super pissed at me and the squirrel has PTSD and an insatiable lust for destructive treasure hunting because of my foolish whimsy

Edit: I have returned the nuts to the squirrel. He will be happy tomorrow.

Edit 2: For God's sake I did not torture an animal you fucking LiveJournal poets. Lighten up

Edit 3: I read this to my wife and she said sternly, 'IT WASN'T FUNNY WHEN IT HAPPENED. I WASN'T LAUGHING. GOD DAMN SQUIRRELS FUCKING UP MY YARD. THEY HAVE NO SHAME, THE CUNTS'

Mood: >! light-hearted, hopefully entertaining !< TW: >! Mild-to-moderate substance abuse !<

Gather 'round, friends, and let me tell you a story of ill-advised mixology, daring bluffs, and a host of glamorous and not-so-glamorous exploits. I'd like to apologize in advance for amy typos; my hands are rather shaky at the moment, for reasons that will soon become apparent.

    ~    ~    ~

The time was 7:00 pm today. I was sitting in a lecture hall, struggling to stay awake. I still had two hours of class to get through, and the teacher's droning, soporific voice was doing a grave disservice to what should have been a fascinating topic.

I wasn't concerned, though; I had a secret weapon. I reached into my bag, and retreived the vial of Captain Cow's Particularly Potent Pick-me-up Potion I had prepared this morning. I uncorked the bottle and took a small sip of the cloudy red liquid inside. It burned my throat, and the acrid, bitter taste clung to my lips. It took half a bottle of water to purge the evil flavors from my mouth. But then, this stuff wasn't supposed to taste good; it was supposed to get results. I sat and waited eagerly for it to take effect.

Half an hour later, the temptation to drift off to sleep was still there, clouding my mind and weighing down my eyelids. I decided I needed a little more juice. This time I took a hearty mouthful, forcing it down my throat despite my body's protests.

That, dear reader, was a mistake.

    ~    ~    ~

At this point, we should rewind a few years for some much-needed context. This is the part of the story with the daring bluff and the glamorous exploits.

I graduated high school with the help of prescription stimulants, which were only prescribed for a short time. I took them on an as-needed basis, and squirreled the excess away for a rainy day.

Fast forward a few years, to the rainiest rainy day in recent history: the pandemic. The collective mental health of the world took a nosedive, and I was right there with everyone else, plummeting toward rock-bottom. I remembered how well prescription stimulants had worked for me in the past, but I didn't want to exhaust my dwindling stash or pay exorbitant prices for street adderall, so I started looking into alternatives.

Dear reader... did you know you can just go on the internet and buy a canister of pure, laboratory-grade caffeine? I didn't, until one fateful night in December of last year. I sat staring at my computer screen, my mind awash with new hope and anticipation. I added the canister to my cart, and pressed the big green button.

As it turns out, ordering stimulants - even legal ones - from an industrial biochemical supply company isn't as simple as "just push the big green button." They wanted to know that I was a responsible scientist working with a reputable research institution, and not, for example, a burned-out college student trying to impulse-buy enough caffeine to kill a horse. I sat staring at the form for a while, wondering if I was the kind of person who would try to bluff their way through a background check to order soft drugs from a chemical supply company. The bottle of single-malt on my desk cast the deciding vote.

I woke up the next morning feeling bright and chipper. (My brain was designed to be alcoholic. I get anti-hangovers.) I sat down at my computer and checked my email: one new message, from a contact at a biochemical supply company. The events of the previous night came flooding back to me.

Oh fucking hell ass balls, I thought. They must have followed up with the school. I'm probably about to be expelled. Son of a ass, why did I think this would work?

Heart pounding, I opened the email.

"Dear Cow," it read. "We're writing to inform you that your recent request to be added to the list of authorized purchasers for Cow College has been approved. Click this link to complete your order."

I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. I clicked the link, still dumbfounded. I placed my order. I spent the rest of the year adding carefully-measured portions of semi-legally-obtained caffeine to my tea, making each cup of chamomile the equivalent of eight cups of coffee.

I was back, baby!

I got back into cooking. I took up hobbies. I went on dates. I pulled all-nighters. I went from nocturnal to diurnal to nocturnal again. I did all my homework on the roof (students weren't supposed to have roof access, but I was an exception because I was good at picking locks.) I saved my declining grades. I graduated.

I decided to take more classes.

    ~    ~    ~

...which brings us to today, when I decided a swig of Mama Moo's Probably-Potable Pep Potation was exactly what I needed to make it through my evening class.

"So, Cow," I hear you ask, "what was in this mysterious mixture?"

Everything, I reply with a shameful grimace. Everything was in it. It was half espresso and half tobasco sauce, fortified with pure caffeine, amphetamine, nicotine and methylphenidate. One sip is the equivalent of washing down a ritalin and half an adderall with twelve cups of coffee. A shot glass of the stuff would send an adult into ventricular fibrillation. It's an unholy blend of stimulants and capsaicin in an acid bath. It's an ill-advised, irresponsible and most-certainly-illegal elixer of inexorable anxious energy. It should never be imbibed. It should be sealed in a lead-lined box to protect future generations. It's a crime against nature. I should be locked up for creating it.

So now I lie here in my bed, taking long deep breaths, trying to keep my mind and body under control while the concoction slowly drains from my system. My muscles are trembling, my resting heartrate is 90bpm, and I can feel the adrenaline and cortisol pumping through my veins. It's a good thing I have prior practice preventing panic attacks, or else I'd surely be curled into a fetal ball of suffering by now.

Don't worry, internet friends, I've learned my lesson.

Next time, I'll only take one swig.

    ~    ~    ~

TL;DR - Today, I mixed up a bottle of Sergeant Steer's Suspiciously-Strong Stay-awake Sauce to help me stay awake through my evening class. It was an unholy mixture of espresso, tobasco, laboratory-grade caffeine, amphetamine, nicotine and methylphenidate. I underestimated its potency and imbibed far more than I should have. Now I'm suffering through the after-effects of my satanic swill, trying to keep my mind and body under control until the evil brew has run its course. Lesson learned: one. sip. only.

    ~    ~    ~

EDIT: I'm kind of floored by how much people have engaged with this, both to appreciate and condemn it, and I'd like to address a thing or two.

1: Everything I've described is a terrible idea, that nobody should imitate. I'm playing up the chaos goblin undergrad character to make for an entertaining read, but the truth is all of these decisions were bad ones. In hindsight, a couple honest conversations with a psychiatrist would have been a much much better way to address my mental health struggles during the pandemic. Oh well, better late than never, which brings me to point 2:

2: The concern and support from y'all has been heartwarming and eye-opening for me. I've written a lot of comments in the past few hours telling people not to follow my example, and I'm realizing I really needed someone to tell me that too. I'm going to email my psychiatrist tomorrow and set up an appointment. It's long overdue. If you or someone you know is struggling with depression / ADHD / feeling unable to function, know that you're not alone, and there are a lot of great people you can turn to for support ♥

3: omg you guys really like my writing that much? Aw shucks... y'know... I recently wrote a short story as a comment in another sub... and I was sad that nobody saw it... I think it's much more well-written than this post, so like... I dunno, if anyone is looking for something short and silly to read, y'know 👉👈

TL:DR at the bottom.

Enjoy my fuck-up story, oddly enough for this sub, it did happen yesterday. Sorry for any mistakes, I'm not a native speaker.

​

Me and my girlfriend exchange nudes frequently. They never leave our phones/computers and we trust each other on that. I like to mess around in photoshop as a hobby and often times I use my gf's nudes for practice. Change the lighting, remove/add things in the background, sometimes I edit her into a playboy cover for a laugh. A few days ago I bought a new laptop, as my old one died some time ago. I installed photoshop on it yesterday and wanted to mess around with it. I found some tutorials online about photoshop tattoo removal and decided to give it a try. Seeing as I had no work the next day, I also decided to get high. I gathered some pics of my girlfriend and went to work.

My girlfriend has a big tattoo on her upper chest (covering her collar bones and the upper part of her boobs), two smaller pieces on her hips, one between her shoulder blades and some smaller ones on her legs and arms. When we met she already had all the major ones and she did two more while with me. It has never bothered me, I thought her tattoos are cool. But before falling for her I never imagined myself to be with such a heavly tattooed girl but I hadn't really thought about it since then.

Now, I edited the pictures, starting from the smaller tattoos and evencually getting rid of the big chest one. I followed a tutorial and made a damn good job in my opinion. I ended up doing three pics and when I was admiring my work I got very... Well, I got hornier then I ever had in my life.

I've always considered my gf's body to be a 10/10. That combined with her wonderful personality made me fall in love quick and hard, and I didn't even think to wonder how she would look like if she didn't have the tattoos. Well now I know. And to me she would look infinitly better.

I regret using photoshop a lot last night. She obviously can't get rid of the tattoos. Not only would it be horribly expensive, but also she really loves them. Also I don't think it's my place to even ask that. She's also a tattoo artist and scheduled to have a "half a body" tattoo done in two or so months by another artist who she's a great fan of. I won't ask her to skip the tattoo. She's very excited about it and has been saving up for a long time. I was never particularly happy that she was getting it, but I was just glad she was excited and again, it's her choice what she puts on her body.

Now I realise just I don't like tattoos on her. I thought a lot last night and realised the signs were there, but for some reason it has never occured to me. For example when we chatted about her tattoo plans I asked her not to tattoo her tummy too soon because I like how soft it lookes on it's own. She would say in that a few years I will have a wife covered from head to toe in ink and I always laughed it off because I didn't want to think about it. I also had a shameful realisation that I've been enjoying sex a lot more since we started to do it doggy style. The one tattoo on her back usually get's covered by her hair so you can't see any tattoos.

I'm kinda freaking out. As I mentioned, my "favourite parts" of her body are the ones with no tattoes on them, that being the back and her waist. The tattoo she's getting is going to go from her arm, down her side and down the leg. Which means it will be pretty much impossible to not see. I'm really ashamed to say I'm afraid I won't be as attracted to her when she does it. I'm afraid to even bring it up because she has horrible body image issues and I'm scared she would be really effected if I said I'm worried about her getting the tattoo. I also know with the way things are going (her becoming a tattoo artist and such) she is going to get more.

I deleted the pictures this morning. They give an ultra boner but the worst moral hangover ever.

​

TL:DR

I removed my gf's tattoos in photoshop and found out I'm much more attracted to her without them. She's getting a body-long piece done in two months and I'm afraid I won't be as attracted to her as I am now.

TL;DR my mom and sister tried getting me committed to a mental hospital to gain power of attorney, file a proxy divorce, and steal my wife’s money.

Some backstory: my wife was scheduled for a business trip so I decided that during her time away I would go visit my family. Since they live in the United States’ heart of methheadism: the great state of Okla-run&dontlookback-homa, I knew it would be a chaotic visit but had no idea what exactly was in store for me this time around.

After letting my mom know what dates I was coming for the visit, I started getting some weirder than normal texts.

Now usually texts from my family go something like this: “I read online that snorting hydrogen peroxide is good for your health” Or “We’re taking out a loan to buy a chateau because the jacuzzi we just bought doesn’t fit in the house.” Mind you, both of my parents are broke, refuse to apply for jobs, and are largely living off my siblings’ incomes.

But this time, I got a flurry of text messages accusing my wife of secretly abusing me. The reason these messages were so odd is that my family has known my wife for over ten years and she is literally the sweetest person ever. And ironically enough, my parents are the ones with the past history of abusing all of their kids. Verbally, emotionally, physically, and financially. And my angel of a wife has consistently loved and supported me through the ptsd aftermath of growing up with that kind of abuse.

So after reassuring my mom that my wife is still the same sweet, non-abusive person as always, she started going on about “secret knowledge” she had and wouldn’t tell me what it was. Finally I just chalked it up to her being bored and trying to start some sh*t for entertainment purposes.

So fast forward to the actual familial visit. Woke up exhausted and decided to treat myself to some coffee at a local coffee shop. The one I was going to was about a five mile drive from where my parents’ live. But I’d been so stressed out from the usual family arguments and gaslighting that highway hypnosis kicked in and I ended up half an hour away. Realizing I’d have to drive half an hour back, I went ahead and called my mom to let her know so she wouldn’t worry.

Shortly thereafter, my sister calls me. She goes on about how highway hypnosis proves I’m “unhinged” and “delusional.” She says I must have something wrong with my brain and need immediate medical attention at an ER. But not the closest ER to me—the closest ER to her (she lives two hours from my parents). She says I need to see Dr. X and have him sign paperwork to get me checked in to a mental ward for my own safety. When I tell her she’s overreacting and that I’m perfectly okay it was just me zoning out and going on autopilot for the drive, she tells me she and my mom have been noticing a worsening pattern in my cognitive behavior for awhile. I ask her what behavior and she won’t give me a clear answer.

Anyway, I get back to my parents’ house and go into their guest house to finish my coffee and send a few emails before fully starting the day. Except I hear a noise in my mom’s office (next to the room I’m staying in) so naturally I decide to check it out. Spoiler: it was my mom’s cat knocking down a folder full of papers from her desk.

Going to pick the papers up, something catches my eye: my name. On paper after paper, there was my name. On an involuntary civil commitment (needing a physician’s approval signature for indefinite commitment), power of attorney going to my mother upon my involuntary commitment, proxy divorce papers to be filed on my behalf against my wife, and written statements by my family that my wife had abused me and were therefore requesting annual alimony to be paid to my soon-to-be power of attorney for the remainder of my involuntary commitment.

My blood ran cold. Of all the ways to extort my wife for money, they were trying to get me locked up for life in a psychiatric ward to do it.

I called my wife, packed my bags, and left without saying goodbye.

Edit:

Thank you all for the advice and positivity! I just wanted to add these updates:

1. The reason I felt it was okay to leave the cat is that my parents treat her like a cat goddess. I think it’s common with a lot of narcs that they’re able to love pets/plants unconditionally but not their own kiddos.

2. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried getting me committed sadly. In high school a decade ago we were having a big fight and my parents tried forcing me into the car to take me to an ER to be committed (also I had to use the bathroom in the middle of the fight. They followed me to the bathroom to continue fighting with me and ended up physically dragging me off the toilet). I realize most families aren’t like this and I should’ve gone NC a long time ago. Narcissistic abuse screws with your head pretty badly and I still deal with bad bouts of guilt that make me think I’m in the wrong and need to make amends.

3. I’m applying for a new SSN and changing my name. My SSN has also never worked properly so it might not even be a real one. Thank you for all the advice on things I hadn’t even considered could happen! I appreciate it! And I’m sorry to everyone who has gone through the same thing. You don’t deserve that shit and I hope you’re able to live a happy stress-free life!

Posting on behalf of another person:

A few days ago, I received world shattering news. My only true friend took his own life after drinking with me. This news hit me like the sky was falling because he was my savior and my bromance.

He may have seemed like an ordinary guy, a background character, but he always provided me with the most honest and helpful advice, solely focused on my well-being. Our friendship started in high school when I was a jerk and a bully, always getting into fights with kids who mocked me. I first met my friend outside the principal's office, and we discussed why we were there. He pointed out that due to the lack of a father figure, I tended to resort to violence to hide my frustration. Someone telling me that kind of words is a reason why I got into so many fights, and although it made me angry at first, I eventually realized he was right. He said those words without any mockery or sympathy. He was different than others. We started talking more after that, and I found myself relying on him more than my own mother. Whenever I reached out to him, he would always provide the most honest advice and point out my flaws without any filters or sympathy. He gradually changed me for the better, and I realized I needed someone as honest as him to help me grow.

Years went by, and I graduated from high school barely and started working in construction while my friend attends college. He was smarter than me and chose a different path, but we always hung out, and I continued to rely on him for various problems. He never turned me down and always provided the best advice.

Things were going well for me. I got promoted, had a stable income, a nice house, and a modest car. Then, a disruptive force entered our lives in the form of my friend's girlfriend, a seemingly nice girl. For my friend, who had no luck in romance, she appeared to be a lucky find. At first, I was happy for him, but as time went by, he dropped out of college and took on different jobs. Later, I discovered that she had convinced him to work and pay for her college tuition after promising him to pay his college after gradauting and starts to earn. I wanted to tell him how absurd that was, but he was happy to support someone he loved. After all, he was the smarter one between the two of us, so I leaved decision to him and tried to help him as much as I could.

After she graduated from college, she looked for a job but gave up after only six months. She spent another year doing nothing but spending money on clothes, bags, and other things while my friend worked his ass off in minefield. He had a schedule of 14 days on and 14 days off, but on his days off, he worked as a car detailer.

My patience was wearing thin, and one day I called my friend to tell him that it wasn't fair for him to pay for her college tuition while she refused to work. Before the conversation could continue, he told me that his girlfriend was six weeks pregnant and they were planning a wedding. I was shocked to hear this, but he was so thrilled to become a father that I swallowed my words and congratulated him.

Four years went by, and my friend had a daughter. He was happier than ever before. Then, that nightmarish day arrived. After work, I received a call from my friend asking me to meet up. I was always happy to see him, so I immediately agreed. We met up, opened a few bottles, and talked about the usual things. But he was different. Looking back now, I realize that the light in his eyes was gone. I didn't notice it at the time, and I might never forgive myself for that. Night fell, and he insisted on going home alone. I made the big mistake of letting him go. That night, I lost my friend.

Apparently, his wife was having an affair, and even their child wasn't his. During an argument, she revealed this to him because he refused her request to buy a new car. I had always suspected something was off because the child didn't resemble him, but how could I say anything when my friend loved his daughter so much? After hearing the truth, my friend lost his will to live and came to see me one last time. I learned this from a message he left before he ended his own life.

I attended his funeral today, but none of his family was present. He had been an abandoned child, and the only people there were his wife's friends and family beside me. They spoke about how my friend had selfishly taken his own life, leaving his wife and child behind, and how he had failed as a husband and father. Everyone comforted his wife. I wanted to burn the ground down with all those people inside, but I restrained myself out of respect for my friend. Then, I reached my breaking point.

I couldn't bear hearing everyone say that my friend was a bad person when it was actually his wife who deserved criticism. I stepped outside to take a breath, and when I returned, I overheard his wife talking with his friends. She described him as useless, always absent, and leaving her to raise their child alone. She even insinuated that he might have had an affair while working at the mine. I couldn't contain my anger any longer. I exploded, grabbed her by the back of her neck, dragged her to the middle of the room, and shouted the facts. I made it clear that he had paid for her college tuition, sacrificing his own dreams, and he had worked tirelessly to provide for their child while she showed no gratitude. In my rage, I said she should be the one in the coffin. I acted like an animal, tears pouring uncontrollably from my eyes, spitting words in anger. I just wanted to strangle her and join my friend in death. But then I saw the child crying in the corner of my eye, the girl my friend loved so much, even though she wasn't his biological daughter. I stormed out and returned home.

When I arrived home i felt absolute hollow in my chest. Nothing mattered anymore. I wanted to join my friend, so I took out my pistol, pointed it at my head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I checked the safety, the bullet, and tried again. The gun jammed. My friend had given me that gun a few years ago, and we used to go to the shooting range together to relieve stress. Is it him telling me to keep living?

I don't know what to do anymore. If I don't confide in someone, I might attempt to join my friend once again.TL;DR:My only friend of highschool ended his life after knowing that his child isn't his. And I failed to stop him when I could. So I stormed his funeral before trying to end my life too.

​

Update to post

In my previous post I mentioned that I am posting on behalf of another person. Here is what happened:

Yesterday I met him at a bar. Appearantly after he tried he went to their favorite bar. I happen to be there. Sat next to him, and made effort to have small talk. I needed accompany to distract from my own little problems, but compared to his mine was just little burnout at work. At first he was silent. Little by little he open up. And told his story. I am bad at this kind of conversation, especially comforting someone. So I sat there listened his story, trying my best to cheer him, atleast distract him from thought of ending his life. But as I said I was kinda bad at comforting someone, it wasn't much helpful. Little while he got more drunken, but he wasn't fully blacked out. I couldn't sit idly so I accompanied him little more while before walking him home. I offered him to stay night there. But he refused. I tried to leave him there and hope for best, but that didn't made my mind at ease. So I called help center. And few help worker came and he stayed with them. Eventhough he was with help workers I thought I could do something for him. So I posted this in hope for there is many people would help you if you allow it, and show him that he is loved and his life is worth to fight for. And his friend's death isn't his fault. Now I am at work after meeting him. Here is how today morning went:

After I posted I couldn't sleep, checked all of your comments and chats which I am so grateful. When morning came I rushed to his house, but he wasn't there. I panicked, didn't know what to do. Circled around his house few times, tried to look through windows, didn't help much but everything seemed same, few cigarette buds added on floor, nothing more. My panic continuous. Pulled out my phone in order to post again to ask for advice. Then I remembered I called help workers yesterday. I guess because I was in panic and thought of he going out and did what he couldn't do yesterday was clouding my mind so forgot about help workers. I called them, asked about his whereabout. They said he is with them. Instant relief. I asked location and went there. It was a studio furnitured like someone's home in order to feel warm for those who they are helping I guess. He was looked worse than yesterday, but calmer.

I sat next to him asked how last night went, he didn't said anything beside bearable. I asked help workers about last night. Help worker named Ahmed said they managed to calm him down and talked about his friend, how he guided him to right path, always gave him best of advice, fixed his bad habits. By talking with Ahmed I learned that our new friend here is like goes fishing, few bar nights and striptease clubs. And once in few months donates various thing in nearby single mother support groups as his deceased friend adviced him to. I went back to him and told him I posted his story on reddit, showed my post and all of comments and chats that I recieved. He didn't say nothing while reading. After that he gave me my phone back and said thank you with forced smile. It was so obvious he is forcing himself to smile back to me in order to show appreciation, but hey it was a smile. It means he is little bit better right?

Then help worker came said about his worth of his life, fact that strangers around world caring for him and it would be in vain for his late friends effort if he end his life that his friend so much valued. That was so much help because I didn't know what to say to him.

And he decided to go on with his life, cherishing the life that his angel of a friend protected and guided until the very end, honoring his late friend, and decided cut ties with that evil woman.

I tried add my word of comforting to him, how he is making right choice and asked his contact info, exchanged our socials. Before heading to work I made him promise me go fishing with me next sunday. In order to give him something to do, something to look forward to. I always wanted fishing buddy. I can't be comforting or person who gives advice like his late friend, but I can be that one guy who is annoying, always inviting some activities, someone who is always sends funny memes by chat. I hope it helps, I really hope. Wish me luck.

For those who showed genuine love and care by commented and sent chat to me, I am grateful from bottom of my heart. Without knowing any of us you guys showed most great love and passion to save stranger life.

All of you are heroes. Thank you.

So I 28m just got out of my first ever relationship, a 6 year one. I live in london and so does my ex so being there with her was making the whole getting over her part really difficult. I just wanted to get away so I thought to myself, I need a nice long holiday (42days), to be around friends, family, and also live that single fuckboyesque life a bit. So I went on holiday to Zambia, my home country.

Now a week before doing so, I changed my location on ALLL the dating apps to prepare myself and line some dates up. Anyway so I get to Zambia I’m happy to be home, see old friends and family for a couple days, then I started doing work. It was fun for about a week, then quickly become more of a chore than anything. Around this time I match with a cute mixed girl ( I’m mixed too). The chat is flowing. From the day we matched, we’re sending paragraphs to each other talking about any and everything. Because this actually doesn’t feel like a chore, I’m just enjoying the deep long convos. During these convos, we talk about our family’s to see if we know of each other. Cos Lusaka, the capital, is really small, everyone knows of everyone here. But as I’m here staying with my dad and use his family name, she’s never heard of him. She goes by her step fathers surname as she was adopted at 2yo. We don’t know of each other, I ask my dad if he’s heard of her surname; and he has! Says they are a good family and the father is a good man.

Around day 3 she drunkenly invites me over. It was lovely, more deep convos, making out. More deep convos etc. She’s on her period so nothing further happens. I spend the night though, we really got to know each other. I go home, 3 days later I visit again and do the deed. At this point I feel like we’re in a mini relationship. We’re texting, calling, and FaceTiming everyday. After about a week of this I think to myself, though this is lovely and she’s relationship material. There already is an expiry date on this (when I leave, I don’t believe in long distance) plus I did come here to enjoy myself and I’ve just gotten out of a 6 year one. At this point we were so close I felt like I was cheating talking to other girls. So I explain my stance, where I’m at mentally and what I want to do. She understood but her stance was she wanted to be safe std wise and me doing what I wanted meant the end of anything physical with her.

I understood and we ended things physically. We still continued to talk every day, still as close as we ever were. We fantasised about one day getting into a relationship together when I do eventually move back here in 2 years.

So this morning I ask her about her day, how’s the farm ( I know from yesterday’s chat she’s visiting her parents who run a farm) she tells me: it’s good, I just had a long conversation with my mum though

Me: cool, what about?

Her: us..

M: okay. What did you tell her?

H: it’s more about what she told me

M: Tf? I’m lost lol what did she say?

H: ugh. It’s just sad.. so sad. I don’t even what to tell you

M: I’m confusssed. What are you on about

H: promise you won’t hate me

M: I could never you’re a lovely person. Did you do something tho? What is going on

H: you promise?

M: idk now cos you’re freaking me out. Just tell me Jasmine.

H: we might be related. I doubt it though because lots of people have your mothers surname.

M: what. And this from your og dad? What’s his name I’ll ask my mum

She then sends his name, I forward to my mum who’s in London asking if she knows this person. She does. It’s her first cousin(fc).. I feel disgusted. I’m upset, angry.

(Edit: the anger here came from me at the time thinking my dad shouldve known. Considering I told him who she was and he knew the step father.)

My stomach was having this weird tingly feeling and my dick wanted to disappear inside my body. I ask my dad how he couldn’t know that the girl I was seeing is fc is daughter. He says oh shit. He knew he dated the mother but didn’t know they had kids, because she went by the other name he thought the step dad was the real father. My dads also lived between 3 countries for the past 12 years.

Anyway.. I’m disgusted by the whole situation. She’s trying to justify it in a why saying that they aren’t really her family anyway, they abandoned her, treated her mum like shit. He father was abusive, she hasn’t spoken to him in 15 years. I’ve told her all this doesn’t matter. You can denounce them all you want but at the end of the day, your blood is what it is

I fly out this Saturday and she’s asked me to come talk about this situation face to face before I go… we’ll see how that goes

TLDR: matched with a girl on a dating app, we got along. We got it on. We found out we’re 2nd cousins 🤷🏻‍♂️ sweeeeeet home Aaaalabamah!

Edit: I’ve read responses and apparently genetically I’m all good. People who are saying it isn’t a big deal though, I doubt they are close to their 2nd cousins. I’ve grown up raising some, looking up to others and going to school with some. I have a huge family so the relation to a 2nd cousin is real to me. I couldn’t imagine doing what we did with the ones I’m close to. Finding out she is one, I know look at her the same so it’s a no no for me

This happened a long time ago when I was about 12 years old. I'm from Slovakia, where we have this really weird tradition during Easter (it's right around the corner!) that involves pouring buckets of water on women and spanking them with whips made out of willow branches, decorated with colorful ribbons that each girl you visit attaches to the rest. There are literally groups of guys walking down the street looking like the peaky fookin blinders collecting debts during that day lol.

Understandably, this may appear very bizarre or even barbaric to a foreigner at first glance as it simply sounds like we go door-to-door chasing, waterboarding, and beating women. While partially true, there is some symbolism behind it and these customs go way back to ancient spring festivals. We pour buckets of water on our women to make sure that they stay as beautiful as they are for the entire year. The same goes for the spanking custom, where we additionally ward off evil spirits. Sounds much better now doesn't it?... Doesn't it?... Now with this cultural background info in mind, back to my story.

I always enjoyed English lessons when I was a kid, however, my grammar and vocabulary were very limited at that time since I was a beginner. One day, a new teacher arrived in our school. She was young, came from Oregon, and was really nice and friendly. I may have had a little crush on her. The fact that she was a native English speaker was very exciting to everyone and it was the first time I've interacted with a foreigner in a second language.

She often talked about her life in America, her own customs and traditions such as Thanksgiving or Halloween that we don't really celebrate here. A couple of months after her arrival, during the Easter holidays, I wanted to demonstrate our customs to her for a change, and thought I'd pay her a visit.

Naturally, I equipped myself with a small bucket of water, a nice perfume that you add after the whole ordeal is over and besides granting them infinite beauty they also smell nice afterwards. Then of course, my primary weapon - a traditional willow whip. After getting ready, I made my way to her apartment building - UNANNOUNCED.

Once I reached the door, found her name, got my broken English ready, and confidently buzzed her apartment. She clearly wasn't expecting any visitors and sounded genuinely confused. The dialogue went something like this:

buzz**

- Yes?

- Hello, I am.

- Who is it?

- It is I, <name>.

- <name> ? What are you doing here?

- I come to whip you.

- I'm sorry?

- No it's ok, I come for the traditional whipping!

This was followed by dead silence, after which she buzzed me in without saying anything. I went inside thinking this was an absolutely smooth conversation and felt quite proud of myself for my impressive English skills. I took the elevator to her floor and knocked on the door. I imagine she must have been quite terrified at that point. She slowly and carefully opened the door just enough to take a peek at this goofy idiot kid standing there with a smile on his face, holding a whip in his hand and a bucket of water in the other. The ridiculous exchange continued something among these lines:

- Happy Easter!

- <name> Are you ok? What's going on?

- You need to be pretty so I put water on you now ok?

- What? No, why? <name> is this a prank? Where are your parents?

- No no dad and I go whip my mom and aunt soon, you first! Ughhh... a tradition!

- Umm... ok? How does it work though, do I wash my hands and face in the bucket or something?

- Haha no. I need to put this water on you and whip you with this. Then you're pretty.

- ...Then I'm pretty, ok. Well, I don't know what's happening and I'm a little scared but go ahead I guess? Please be careful though, can you be careful?

Thank God I could at least tell that she was in a bit of a shock so luckily I didn't empty the bucket in her face point-blank like I would usually do to my female relatives. Instead I just put my hands in the bucket and gently splashed some water on her with my fingers. She was laughing at this point but was still visibly confused saying "What is going on?" repeatedly. Then I said:

- Now I spray this on you so you smell nice ok? took out the perfume from my pocket**

- Haha I get it so I'm not pretty and I stink too, great!

- Ok and now I whip you with this and say a poem!

Yeah there's also this ridiculous chant I forgot to mention that men say while putting girls through all of this. I found a spot-on explanation of it when I was looking for a rough translation:

"And then there are the absurd chants which more than folklore resemble lines out of a Monty Python movie: Wacky-wimpy, give no fishy, there’s just one thing that I beg, a wonderful Easter egg."

She was laughing and hollering the entire time and once I was done, I immediately followed that with:

- Ok haha now I want candy! (it's also customary for the girls to give kids chocolate eggs, sweets, or even pocket money, adults get booze)

- Oh! But I don't have any at home. I'm so sorry!

She went inside to look for something and came back with a tic tac or a gum I think, and apologized again for not having anything better at home.

I tried explaining that it's alright and all I wanted to do was show her the tradition and left, completely happy with how that all went down. She talked to my former English teacher in school who then called me to join them and helped translate things so everything was explained and they had a nice laugh about it. However, I'm absolutely mortified thinking back at how clueless I was that day and what an embarrassment that was.

TL;DR: Back in elementary school, I paid an unannounced visit to my new English teacher from America and with my broken English told her I came to whip and pour water on her because I wanted to demonstrate a silly tradition of my country.

[UPDATE]

Firstly, thank you all for your comments. Very few of you were actually pretty rude but I suppose that comes with the territory of reddit. Glad to say I can relay a huge fuck you to those telling me I had no chance. To everyone else, you all made me realize that in person was better and soon is ideal. I went to her ASAP, here’s what happened:

Despite my long-winded posts, I am not a man of many words. Throughout our entire relationship I tried my hardest to compensate with my actions, that obviously bit me in the ass when my actions did not align with my heart. I had to put my initial demeanor aside and pour my all into her audibly - I did just that.

Not sure how detailed I should be. I went to her apartment, she answered not expecting it to be me (I’ve told her about answering the door and not knowing who it is but that’s neither here nor there right now lol). She was hesitant to let me in but after pleading, she allowed it.

I was overcome with emotion so much so no words were coming out. Call me what you want, but I got to my knees in front of this woman and told her how I felt. How much she meant to me, how hard it was for me to be so open and vulnerable and that I hadn’t realized this until that night. My girl is very great at facilitating an open environment for communication, so this is by no means a reflection of her but a testament to my upbringing. For context, both my girl and I come from abusive households. That reveals itself to her in her ways (though she handles it with grace and great consideration for others) whereas mine is very avoidant and closed off. Since a child, I never felt like a woman would truly love me based on what was instilled in my by my mother. We’ve had this conversation before, she’s aware of this, I’m currently in therapy, but I didn’t expect to react that way once I’m in presence of a woman who does in fact love me.

I told her and reiterated that I will go through hell and high water to acknowledge my inner conflicts not only for myself but for her. I emphasized I will also do this so I can show up for her emotionally and NEVER to leave her in a vulnerable state again. I apologized and teared up and apologized some more. She just listened, crying, but listening.

She knelt down to me and unbelievably… this woman said verbatim “I understand, our actions are never a reflection of others but of the relationship we have with ourselves”. She told me how she felt; confused, hurt and betrayed. Hearing that destroyed me but she also reassured me that she knew who I was as a man and believed me to be genuine. She also threw in that if that shit happened again, I’d have no access to her and she is her own priority above anyone else. Trust me, I will not be calling her bluff. She is very sure of herself and I’m surprised she even let me in.

She kissed me, thanked me for my honesty and told me it was okay to cry. Man, I’ve always been told as man, I am less than for showing emotion. I never felt so open and comfortable, not even with my long time friends. Nonetheless, I wanted to be sure I was the one comforting her and not the other way around. I asked her what I can do and well, we finished what we started. I made love to my woman for the first time. In the AM, I got us breakfast. Making sure to leave a note so she wasn’t caught off guard if she woke up and saw I wasn’t there.

I’m going to marry this girl. Do right by her and myself. She’s going to be the mother of my children when the time is right, mark my words. Coming from a man who didn’t see any of this for myself just a year ago. She really changed me for the better.

I also want to note that, though my girlfriend nurtures me in this way - she does not mother me lol. I know there’s a rhetoric of women “building-a-man”, she’s 100% facilitating my growth but I am a grown man responsible for my actions and will make the effort to be better on my own. I do not want to paint her as a weak for giving me a second chance like some of you have insinuated. Her support was and is something I… will be grateful for forever.

Also, I did end up showing her this post and we laughed at a few comments.

(Gf here) Hi! With work, we are all capable of reaching the healthiest versions of ourselves. This moment is not a mirror of our relationship but a marker to my bf’s growth. If I can say anything to help anyone, I urge everyone to reach out to those you love and do better not only for them but for yourselves! We are not to blame for our traumas but we are responsible for how they show up in our actions. Much love - ST.

On that note, not responding to nasty comments. Some of you are projecting and looking to tear a man down. I got my lady. Thanks everyone.

TL;DR My gf told me loved me for the first time and I got overwhelmed and left. Updating on getting my lady back.

[Edit] Too many comments to respond to. Just want to emphasize my thanks to you all. We both agreed to leave this post up in hopes it will help or motivate someone. There are comments saying this is fake and I’m fishing, whatever. I posted this on two sun reddit’s in hopes of getting as much advice as possible - did NOT think it would reach this many. My first post barely got any comments and I was desperate last night. People will believe what they want so there’s no need in arguing with that. But I hope all of you get to experience what seems to be a “fairytale” or a “movie”. I guess that is what real love looks like. For anyone wondering, we are both in therapy individually and not planning to cease at anytime. Have a good day to you all, even those who are doubtful. Oh well.

Also. Original here, also posted in the relationship advice thing. https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/udls40/tifu_by_leaving_after_my_girlfriend_told_me_she/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf

Obligatory this happened a few days ago. About 6 months ago I met this wonderful Japanese girl in uni. She had attended an international school in Japan and her dad had worked in the US for 20 years so she maintained native level English and was able to study abroad here in the US very easily. Anyway, we hit it off really well and have a ton of things in common and became very close over the past few months. We often hang out at each other's places to watch anime or play video games but so far it has been a very friendly and platonic relationship. Recently, I've begun to develop feelings for her but I haven't really been able to muster up the courage to ask her out yet. I've been shot down several times in the past so I've been very hesitant to going through confessions and heart break all over again.

What I didn't tell her was that I had been learning Japanese on and off for about 6 years now. I'm very self conscious and unconfident about my abilities and the topic of me speaking Japanese never really came up so I never mentioned it. I'm not exactly fluent, but I can understand a fair bit and even though my speaking skills aren't very good, I can get around Japan perfectly fine having spent a month there for travel. I also scanlate (provide free translations online) for manga on the side every once in awhile to keep my language skills up but I never really told her about it either.

a few weeks ago we were watching together when she had to take a call from her mother and excused herself to the kitchen to speak with her. I decided to play around on my phone while waiting but I couldn't help but overhear the conversation she had with her. Based on her responses, her mother was essentially teasing her for me being her "boyfriend" and why she hasn't asked me out yet. I overheard her say something along the lines of "告白したいけど振られたくない。まだいつどういう感じでしようか思ってるよ" which essentially translates to "I want to confess but I don't want to get rejected. I'm still thinking about when and how I'm going to do it".

Naturally I became very excited. I tried to keep a straight face and not ask about it but my heart was beating out of my chest at that very moment. I didn't want to pry and decided to just wait until she would just bring it up naturally when she's ready.

Later on, she mentioned that her mother would be coming in to town on a Saturday to bring some stuff over. We are usually at each other's places every weekend for a brief period of time just to get caught up with the latest anime episode (last weekend was the premiere of a new season for an anime called Kaguya-sama love is war which we had planned to watch together). I told her no worries, I will just be in and out of her place so that I don't intrude on her family time. While watching the episode at her place, her mother ended up coming in early so I had no choice but to say hi.

I don't really know what came over me, but when her mother introduced herself to me in Japanese, I also responded back in Japanese. Back when I was visiting Japan, I got very accustomed to Japanese greetings when I met up with friends over there, so when I met her mom the instinct immediately came back to me. She was an incredibly nice and polite person and we had a full conversation about my major and future plans etc. I looked back at my crush, apparently wide eyed from me speaking Japanese to her mom, and I decided to excuse myself so that she could have some family time.

Later in the day she texted me that she didn't know I speak Japanese, and I replied "well you never asked". This was apparently the worst response I could've given because she got very angry. I didn't think this would be a huge deal, but I guess it did reveal that I understood what she was saying when she talked about her feelings for me to her mom over the phone. She ended up getting very upset about hiding an important detail from her, which I didn't think would make her so angry at me. She felt betrayed that I kept a secret like his from her for so long and I tried to apologize, but she doesn't want to speak to me right now, and I feel like I just blew my chances.

Do I say sorry? Or let it just cool off? I don't feel like I did anything wrong as I feel like me being able to understand Japanese shouldn't be a huge deal, but she's still upset with me and doesn't want to talk.

TL;DR I hid the fact I speak Japanese to my crush for 6 months, ended up overhearing a phone conversation that she likes me back and accidentally revealed to her that I speak Japanese and made her upset for keeping a big secret from her

EDIT: I think the general response here is to apologize to her directly, and then to also confess my feelings for her as well. I don't want to ride on overconfidence that this will go well, but I would like the confession to be a little more elaborate rather than over text so I am writing up an apology/confession letter as we speak and bundling it with some chocolates/flowers/pocky sticks/strawberry kitkats so I will post an update on what she says hopefully tomorrow.

EDIT 2: More recent responses seem to indicate the chocolates and confession letter is a bad idea, so I'm going to scratch that and ask her to meet up tomorrow to talk about what had happened directly

EDIT 3: For those of you still randomly following this story, I have no intention of posting this to the main subreddit anymore because people will just call me fake or whatever, so I posted an update for those still interested on my profile page along with a screenshot text proof: https://www.reddit.com/user/ricedealer97/comments/u4xyy8/tifupdate_not_telling_my_crush_i_speak_her_native/

This is another story that happened a while ago (actually almost a year) but it took a bit of time for the full scope of the TIFU to emerge.

The background is my dad died when I (16F) was very young, so I have no memories of him. My mom and my brother, who is 7 years older than me, of course have many fond memories of my dad. I often felt left out when the two of them would reminisce about my father, the way they would phrase it would be something like "Dad was always doodling in his sketchbook, do you remember his sketchbook?" I would feel left out and and like I was disappointing them by not being able to remember.

Anyway sometime when I was 13 I basically told them to shut up about my dad all the time and there were much less conversations about my dad. None of us really understood then why the way we were communicating was so broken and hurtful for everyone.

This was fine for a bit over a year until my dad came up again and this is the day I FU. So my dad was a really good artist and amateur woodworker. Around the house my mom hung up sketches he made of us as kids. Also hanging up is his masterpiece, this amazing wood carving he made that's a portrait of my brother as a baby. It really looks incredible, very solidly built (this is important later) and looks like it's from a gallery. My mom had this hanging up right at the front, it was the first thing people see and comment on when they came in, and my mom would start talking about how my dad was really into art and woodworking and would made sketches of his kids when he was staying up at night to put us to sleep. It would happen all the time even with my friends, and this would annoy me and made me feel excluded again.

So the day I FU, my brother was home from college and he said "hey you know that woodcarving of me that dad made?" and my mom said "you remember how your dad was always making sketches of you?" Anyway at that point it felt like they were rubbing it in so I snapped, screamed at them to stop making me feel like shit for forgetting our perfect father, and went to my room. I was really emotional and later when they left the house I grabbed the woodcarving of my brother off the wall and... broke it in half on the ground.

Or at least I tried. Luckily it was carved out of a really solid piece of wood or this would be an even bigger FU. So failing to destroy it, I settled for throwing it in a neighbors trash can. Then I went to my aunt's house whose always been someone I trust and cried to her about the whole thing. She was sympathetic but she made me get the carving back out of the trash and explained to me that my reaction was very wrong, and texted my mom to let her know I was OK.

Then I made a post on AITA about the whole situation and people were incredibly savage. I mean not undeservedly so in the comments maybe, but I actually got like a borderline death threat in the PMs. Luckily my aunt was there to go through the responses with me, she would generally explain why people were saying that stuff to me and rephrase it in a gentler way so I could see where people were coming from. It's a good thing she was there because otherwise I don't think I would have processed what people were saying.

And then the scope of the FU became even clearer later. It turns out that my brother was trying to tell me he had a surprise for me. He knew my dad was always planning on making a second woodcarving of me, that's what the sketches were for, and he knew I felt left out not having one of my own. So he's taken it up as a hobby himself and he used the shop at his school to make a carved portrait of me, based on one of dad's sketches. They were trying to give me the gift when I flipped out and they felt bad about making me upset so they didn't know how to explain it after.

In the end my aunt helped us clear everything up and we figured out a few things:

1. My mom and my brother started talking me about dad again, but learned not to "quiz" me about him as if they expect me to remember. I sometimes feel sad hearing about someone I'll never know directly, but in a good way because it's nice to hear about someone who loved us so much. I can get to know him through my family's memories, and I know that they're trying to include me and not exclude me when they talk about him.
2. My mom wanted to put the woodcarving of me my brother made next to the one of my brother that dad made but my brother said they don't really match. My brother says he's still a beginner at woodcarving so his style isn't the same as dad's. I think mine looks great too, it's just like a different style - more etching like a coin than deep 3D carves like a statue, I guess. My brother doesn't want me to feel like it stands out as different next to the one dad made though. So my mom alternates which one she hangs up at the front, usually it's mine because she says she's balancing out for lost time. Also she makes sure mine is the one in front if it's my friends coming over. When it's not there, I keep it in my room. My brother says he's going to keep learning woodcarving so he'll give me another version in the future that's more in dad's style but I really like the one I have now. It looks like something my brother made, based on art my dad made, so it's like I have a gift from both of them.
3. As for the memento I almost destroyed, sadly there was some damage. We were able to clean it up and fortunately the damage isn't so much on the actual portrait portion of the wood, just a lot of dents and chips to the edges and corners and stuff. I feel really bad about that but mom still likes to display and put it up and said that this way it looks more vintage and like I've made a contribution to this woodcarving too.

I guess the TLDR is I permanently damaged my family memento, got a bunch of hate mail on reddit when I ran there for support, and spoiled my brother's very thoughtful attempt to give me a gift. Fortunately my aunt was there to keep all of us from doing anything permanently stupid.

This happened a few months ago, but is still a stark reminder to know your limits and take things slow, lest you’re flung helplessly into the upside down where your brain ceases to function and you have to feebly text your wife for help from the bedroom.

My wife, Amy uses medicinal weed to help combat anxiety. She uses small amounts throughout the day in order to steady her nerves. She has an extremely high tolerance, and has found that edibles have no effect on her (she can pop a 200MG gummy and feel nothing. Adorable me, on the other hand, nibbles a 5 MG, THC/CBD gummy and I’m on the edge of overthinking my entire life. Anyway, my wife’s father smokes to help with various bodily injuries acquired throughout his life and often makes tinctures and infusions as experiments with potency. He, naturally, has a high tolerance as well. My wife’s experiences with edible immunity seemed to intrigue my father-in-law and he began using her as a test subject to see if he could illicit any kind of psychological or physiological response (The idea of my gray-haired, bathrobe-clad, pop-in-law tinkering with pot potions in his kitchen is a hilarious visual in and of its self, but I digress). The day came and he divulged his perfect solution… or substance, I guess? a HUGE pad of knee-shaking, heart-bursting, ID-destroying, weed-infused butter.

My wife kept this innocent looking, yellow cube of mind-fuck in our freezer for a few weeks, devising the proper time to utilize it. Then, on a lazy weekend, she decided to melt the butter in a cup of coffee and slowly sip the stuff while taking note of how she felt. This is where my stupid 5MG ass comes comes in. “I’ll just take a sip” I thought. “Couldn’t hurt, right?” Just a lil’ sip, followed by a beer or two. Enjoy my evening. I raised the mug to my lips and noticed the oily drops of liquified fuck butter slicked to the surface of the brown liquid. I sipped. A tiny sip. A, this-is-hot-coffee-I’d-better-be-careful kind of sip. This couldn’t do more damage than the little gummy. I was wrong and there was no going back. My fate was sealed.

We sat down to watch a movie with our kids. 30 minutes went by. 40 minutes. About an hour. Nothing. I felt completely normal. Nary a twitch or fuzzy sensation to speak of. My father-in-law called Amy to see how things are going. She’d finished the entire cup and felt nothing. She casually mentioned that I had a sip of said coffee a while back, and also felt nothing. There was a pause, then my wife’s brow furrowed. “No he’s ok.” she responded, her eyes shot over to mine in a confirming glance. “Uh oh”, I thought. That’s probably not good. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” she said jovially and said her goodbye’s. It was shortly thereafter that everything changed. I began to feel my extremities go numb. When I moved my head, it seemed my eyes needed time to catch up. I blinked and took a deep breath. My heart sounded loud and throbbed in my ears. Its beating seemed to interrupt my breathing. I tried to play it cool. I shifted my weight on the couch, tried to stretch weakly to jostle the foreign vibrations out of my limbs. It was happening. I’d sipped more than I could swallow. I suddenly felt the urge to pee. I stood up, not saying a word, and peaced out of the living room. The ol’ Irish goodbye. I found my way to the master bathroom and forgot why I’d gone there. I stopped, looked around for a moment, then stepped back into our dark bedroom. I stood there for a good five minutes, frozen, staring. I couldn’t think. I wasn’t sure what to do next. After a while I managed to pull out my phone and text my wife a pitiful: “I'm feeling too much.” (exactly what I wrote. She uses this phrase to torment me to this day) and stumbled to our bed.

My wife is the best. She’s a champ. She knew exactly what do do. She calmly left the kids to their movie, explaining that I was suffering from a migraine, laid next to me in bed, held my hand and stroked my hair, fitting of the little lost boy I’d become. Intensely introspective. Rambling. Occasionally exclaiming in a shaky voice “What did your dad DO??”. It was horrible. The muscles in my legs felt as though they were firing and twitching of their own accord. I couldn’t get a full breath as my heart’s panicked pounding interrupted each inhalation. I couldn’t entertain a thought or subject for more than a few sad seconds before my wife would have to prod me on. Staying in one place too long, dwelling on a subject for more than a few beats, would expose me to intense panic and introspection. I was Charlie Sheen high for hours, rocketing through the quantum realm at top speed. Raving about the follies of my misspent youth. Shouting then calm. Panicked then reassured. My wife never leaving my side. I slept for 11 hours, and in the morning experienced my first weed hangover. No headache, no nausea, no intense pain of any kind really. Just a fatigue like I’d never felt. Like I’d been clenching my ass cheeks and curling my toes for 2 days straight while glacier water was poured over my naked genitals.

My wife, you ask? She never felt a thing. Nothing. The whole damn cup of chrome-bubbled coffee had no effect on her infinitely nurturing form. I had the pleasure and embarrassment of recounting my ordeal to Amy’s family a few weeks later. My father-in-law found it terribly funny that he’d almost cracked my psyche like an MK-Ultra psy-op. Be careful out there folks. Have fun. Take advantage of new experiences when they’re presented to you. But please, PLEASE remember to try just a little bit of that edible then, you know, wait an hour.

TL:DR - I took a tiny sip of my wife’s coffee that contained a strong, weed-infused butter. Panicked, laid in bed like a corpse, hands crossed over my chest for hours as she stroked my head like a panicked infant.

Night of the Rat

I didn’t get any sleep two nights ago, and here is my story.

I live in the mountains on the Front Range of Colorado, and I happened to leave a door propped open for a bit to move a large ladder in and then out of the house. I didn’t think much of it, and went about my day. Later on I was sitting at the kitchen table, and heard a sound. At first I thought it was just the ice maker in the fridge, but it became apparent it was something else. I went in the kitchen to investigate, and it appeared to be coming from behind a basket I use for glass recycling that is tucked underneath the kitchen counter. I pulled out the basket to see, and there was a nice healthy rat with beady black eyes cowered back in the corner! I immediately set up a boundary of pictures and other objects to try and block him in kitchen, and I grabbed a broom. I tried to get him, and pin him down with the broom, but he was so fast and wily! He scampered under the oven, and I could see him under there with my flashlight, with those black beady eyes. I moved the oven an inch or two from the wall, and he ran to hide in the boundary I made. I tried to get him again with the broom, but the highly energetic rat made it past the boundary, and hid under the couch in the living room. The front door is only a few feet away, so I propped it open, hoping he might just scamper outside. Then I lifted up the rather heavy couch, and tried to direct my little friend to the front door with the broom. Well, I lost track of him, and went around the house on my hands and knees with my flashlight to try and spot him. After I couldn’t find him, I thought he must have gone out the door at some point, and dismissed it.

Later that night, I went to bed as normal and fell asleep around 11:30 pm or so. I keep an insulated cup of water, and a CPAP machine I use on my bedside table. I sleep on my stomach. I woke up at 3 am or so, and I thought I felt something cross my back. In my sleepy state, I wondered if it was just the movement of the blankets settling, but then realized it was something else! I sprung out of bed like a grasshopper on a hot plate, and checked the blankets for rats! Nothing. I got out the flashlight, but could not find anything. I was too tired to deal with it, and tried to go back to sleep. I put the blankets over my head, tucked them in all around, and used the CPAP as a deep sea diver’s hose. I was eventually able to go back to sleep. A while later, I felt the feet on my back again, and this time I sprung up and saw him! He jumped off the bed and ran into the next room. He was hiding underneath the stereo in there. I put a Havahart trap down near the stereo, and went back in the bedroom. I saw that he had been nibbling on the silicone mouth piece on the metal straw I use in my water cup, and left me a poop too! Gross! I took the cup downstairs, and put it in the kitchen sink. Then I went back in the bedroom, and closed the door, put down a twisted up towel, and a guitar amp to block the bottom of the door. I also used 99% rubbing alcohol all over my bedside table. I cocooned up in the blankets again with the diving hose, and tried to get back to sleep. Well, I felt the feet AGAIN! HE WAS IN THE BEDROOM! I was really frazzled at this point.

I was not getting any sleep, and had to do something. I decided to set a trap. I went downstairs to the kitchen and retrieved the cup. I put the cup back on my bedside table, and also put a Havahart trap right next to it, rigged with some cashew butter, and a jar lid filled with water as bait. I cocooned back up with my dive hose, and tried to get some sleep. I was in a half-sleep state, and I heard a noise from the trap! False alarm. I must have brushed up against it with the blanket or something. Back to sleep again, and a while later, I heard the trap again, and I had got him! Phewwww! I got a little more sleep, and then took him to a nice field a few miles away and released him.

Trapped Rat! -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YemnmD6QEJE

Rat Release-> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oV5DvS6cO_g

TL;DR

A rat got into my house, and was in my bed while I was sleeping! I trapped him, and put him outside without harm.

​

Edit: Thanks for the eyeballs, comments, awards, and up boats (are we still allowed to say that?)! I read comments saying it looks like a pet rat. That thought is harrowing, and I certainly hope not! I think these comments mostly stem from the way he acted in the release video. Believe me, he was much more wild acting all night! I think he was just played out, and very thirsty by the time I released him. There are no accessible water sources here, no pet bowls, no dripping faucets, and I have auto-close toilet seats. I have a cistern, and every drop of water is brought here by truck. If someone let him out, that would be terrible! Up here in the mountains, there are foxes, coyotes, mountain lions, and bears. People around here would be careful about a rat getting out, or anything, as people lose dogs. A neighbor of mine watched their dog get carried up the mountain in the mouth of a mountain lion! Thanks again everyone!

It’s still in my post history because I am permanently keeping it as a reminder that I’m a fucking idiot whenever my ego gets out of check.

Okay so this morning I posted on Reddit a conversation me and my friends had in which we all unanimously agreed that drinking a gallon of milk in under an hour is 100% possible and is an incredibly easy challenge. My reasoning was that an entire hour is a lot of time, and that if you just slowly and steadily drink the milk while portioning yourself there’s no reason why anybody can’t do it. One of the lesser challenges was doing a half gallon in an hour and I can say from a certain experience with hot sauce a while ago that I was 100% capable of achieving that so I was absolutely confident I could do two.

I posted it to Reddit, feeling pretty high and mighty of myself on the “unpopular opinions” board and was immediately provided with multiple comments informing me that I was an idiot and had no idea what I was talking about. These comments from inferior humans asked me to record my endeavors and I was without a doubt ready and willing to prove them wrong. So I went to my local 7/11, bought a gallon of 2% and got back to my dorm.

I will give myself credit through my naive ego, I did prepare for the worst a little bit, I sat with a towel bib in case of dribblage and pre-opened one of the shower stalls because the toilets would not account the possible gallons worth milk that could occur from the bovi-licious odyssey I was about to traverse upon. So I turned on my video camera and filled up 5 approximately 25 ounces cups of milk.

Looking at these completely full cups infront of me, the milk carton definitely tricks you with its sheer volume and I was realizing the challenge ahead of me, but mama didn’t raise no bitch so I went in.

First cup: Totally easy, I love milk, my father, brother and I will go through a gallon within 2-3 days tops, and all I have to do is do this every 12 minutes and I’m home free and all those losers on Reddit will know how cool I am.

Second cup: I down this one too, easy peasy, though the first signal to my brain that I was very much so satiated with my daily value of calcium was already upon us. Though this was a challenge even the greatest often failed at, I wasn’t going to underestimate this challenge, but rather like a matador I will corral this bull with steadiness and finesse.

Third cup: this one I was able to not consistently down, I got about half way through and I had to breathe for a second. But I have a 12 minute window to down this so I don’t have to rush it. The camera is still recording, I wonder if I have to post this full hour of footage to prove it or if I can just skip to each time I drink. Ha. Imagine the looks on their faces when they see I can drink an entire gallon. How much time till my next cup? IVE GOT 30 SECONDS?!

Fourth cup: OKAY! I FINISHED THE THIRD CUP IN THE TIME WINDOW! The 12 minute mark hit and I didn’t immediately drink it, I picked it up, inspected it’s beautiful color and temperature, and immediately had to put it back down because a certain noise just befell my ears... did my stomach just... hiccup? Me and humbleness have a very long distance relationship, and as the crazy zodiac girl in my nursing classes has informed me, “you totally DO give off Leo energy”. And while my understanding of stars is lacking I think that translates to at this very moment, I definitely have gotten myself into a bad scenario thanks to my ego”. I begin to drink the fourth cup and my stomach is really starting to slosh around, it’s just stagnant and sitting in there and I can feel it truly filling up. SOMEHOW, BY SHEER MIRACLE OR LUCK, I get cup 4 down within the time window with a few minutes to spare.

Fifth cup: ALL. I. DID. WAS. BURP. A very small burp, but up with it came a mouth full of milk. I realized my fate was sealed. As I swallowed it back down I knew that the second part of the challenge was actually sitting there and not puking as the body begins to naturally break down the lactose and shit in the milk. I haven’t even touched the fifth cup yet, just decided to bring my knees up to my chest to help with the completely full stomach... then, I, very graciously I should add, sprinted like a mad man to the open shower, kneeled on that gross ass floor and prepared for the inevitable. 10 seconds.. 15... nothing was happening... so I slowly got up and went to head back to my room to hopefully finish the challenge, and THEN I BUMPED THE STALL DOOR RIGHT INTO MY GUT.

In that moment I saw two things, the white of the milk projectile ejecting from my mouth into the shower floor from my rapidly turning head as to not destroy everything. And the vision of God punishing me for the next probably 40 years because I attempted to achieve the ways of the golden calf.

It is now 5 hours later, and Reddit has won this time with their stupid facts and basic science that I chose to ignore. I am still making frequent trips to the bathroom with generous supplies of dairy for the toilet from both ends. If you need me I will be listening to “I told you so’s” from the toilet.

Tl;dr: I try to best Reddit by drinking a whole gallon of milk and now my stomach is churning to the point that I may shit butter

Edit: It has been only two hours and so far I have seen many people read this story, understand my overconfidence within it, and then comment that they bet they could personally do the challenge themselves and will be trying soon, which makes me feel better knowing that I am not ill for this world. Thanks guys!

Edit 2: FAQ on my Main Page