I’m an alcoholic, gotten so bad to the point I was in jail and I was admitted into a psych ward once. My drinking life was wild and destructive. Decided I’ve had enough. After 2 failed attempts I’m currently 36 days sober, the most sober I’ve been in years.
This is a weird one but I promise you, no b******t.
I had a metal screw/bolt roughly an inch and a half long stuck in my right lung from age 2-17. I must have put it in my mouth as a toddler and it got in got there somehow.
Anyway, The unsettling bit is that I always knew there was something seriously wrong with my body, because my whole life I would have instances in which I coughed uncontrollably, many times coughing up blood. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. But I never told anyone. Dad was neglectful and mom was always working, so it was relatively easy to hide. If it happened at school I’d excuse myself to the restroom until it stopped. No one ever showed concern those 15 years so I guess I kept it to myself well enough.
I never told anyone, because even as a small child I was very unhappy with life and wanted it to be over. I guess I figured my mystery illness would get me eventually, so I kept it a secret so I wouldn’t get treated.
It all came to a head at 17 when playing ball at the park with my parents, siblings, and some friends. I got a decent hit and ran around the bases when I started coughing. After sitting back down I tried to hold it in but I couldn’t… and this time it was too bloody to hide and no bathroom to go to. So my step uncle noticed after a minute or two, everyone is crowded around me while I’m coughing up a s***load of blood in and around a trash can. My little brother told me after that they actually sent guys in hazmat suits to clean it up because they didn’t know if whatever was wrong with me was contagious.
But anyway, got to the hospital got the X-ray which showed the screw lit up like Christmas imposed over my rib cage. Doctor guy just went “Well there’s your problem!” I guess he was trying to lighten the mood since everyone was understandably freaking the f**k out.
Two weeks of surgery, three total, and it was out. I still have breathing issues, but the cough is gone now. I made the screw into a necklace which I wear sometimes because I find it oddly comforting to be reminded of my own mortality. I know that’s weird but it’s just sort of how I am all things considered.
I never told my family I knew there was something wrong with me, because telling them would mean admitting to them that I wanted to die the whole time.
I still struggle with mental health c**p for this and many, many other reasons I won’t get into, but things are a lot easier than they used to be.
But anyway, if you actually took the time to read about my weird little life I appreciate your time and hope your day is pleasant.
I constantly think about leaving my current life behind and just living alone somewhere remote where no one knows I exist.
Odd thing is, I have a really good happy life- and I’d never do it, but I think about it constantly
I have unusually good night vision, extra cones/rods (I forget which is for low light) which means I walk around in what other people consider complete darkness, able to see just fine. Add onto that I’m 6’10” and very large, basically a cryptid
Sometimes I think I have memories of being sexually molested or exploited as a young child. But I can’t ever be sure if the memories are real, and I wouldn’t dare ask anyone.
Edit: I am shocked and horrified at how many others have similar experiences/suspicions. But the amount of people that feel comfort in knowing they aren’t alone has made sharing this post worth it. Wishing you all clarity, peace, and healing.
My cat is the only thing keeping me from offing myself. I have a husband and kids, and they should be the reason I stay alive. The thing is… my family has people to take care of them if I go. But my cat only likes me. He waits every night by the door for me to come home, and every time I’m in a dark place and thinking of just… ending it, I think about how this damn cat would just wait and wait for me until he died. Kind of like that Futurama episode with Fry’s dog.
My dog and my mother died in the same year.
I was so devastated when my dog passed. That kind of pain didn’t even touch the pain of losing my mom.
Partially because she had given up on me and life years before she died. She drank herself to death and got sepsis. My dad killed himself in 02. I’m 38 now. I miss them.
I miss my dog more. She was always there for me, through so much illness and loneliness and pain. She was my best friend.
I’ve ripped a mans ear off with my teeth.
Context: Self-defence. The ear rips off the head like paper wear your earmuffs out you never know who’s hungry
I’m slowly leaving society and don’t plan to tell anyone. I purchased a small piece of property, one small cabin in which I’ll live and a second that has been remodeled for use as a rental to subsidize my income. I have 2 years +/- of work left and have no intention of telling them either. My parents are both dead and my brother has been estranged for 2 decades. When I hit my monetary goal in a couple years, I’m just not showing up for life any more. I’ve deleted all socials aside from Reddit as I use it for news and information to stay current until I leave the grid. My phone will also be be left behind. I plan to take a laptop to communicate with the rental agency and any issues with renters that may arise as I plan to act as the caretaker of said rental. Tl;dr: I’m walking away from it all. Work, friends, any and all obligations. The world tires me and I see no point in continuing to be part of it on any real scale. And telling no one.
I can turn my emotions off to any situation if I choose too and basically be in a state of blankness. Doesn’t matter how sad or bad it is. Therapist said it’s a defense mechanism from a messed up childhood.
My mental health has taken a sharp decline in the last year, and my friends and family don’t know about everything I’m trying to deal with (I just crack jokes about it or manically word vomit some things but not everything). Here’s some word vomit for anyone who cares to read (TW: bad mental health):
I think I have PTSD (I get flashes of the worst night of my life, and that happened November, 2021). I can’t touch soft sweaters without damn near having a panic attack. I’m getting intrusive thoughts that tell me I’m bad, worthless, unloved, unworthy of being loved, and all other mean things. I constantly maintain a very high level of anxiety. I overthink everything to the point that I can’t focus on anything else sometimes. I have no motivation to clean, exercise, cook, or do anything else I used to enjoy. I din’t enjoy moments when I feel happy because I feel guilty when I’m happy. I just want to sleep, but I can’t for very long because of my anxiety. My Wellbutrin and propranolol don’t work anymore, not very well anyway. I can’t just walk away and keep walking until I die of hunger or exhaustion because my husband would be sad, and I don’t want my last action on earth to be another bad one. I cry a lot. I couldn’t maintain eye contact with my husband last night because every time I looked at him, I wanted to burst into tears. He hugged me, and I almost burst into tears. I stopped cuddling because I was about to burst into tears. I started keeping a mental health journal, and I have so many more bad days than good. Even the good days are marred by bad stuff. I just lie in bed all day instead of being busy and productive like I used to.
Sorry for the wall of text. I’m just very tired and wanted to holler my problems into the Internet void.
From ages 6 to 14, I spent all of my time in a pitch black, cold and locked basement, only leaving for school and never letting anyone (outside the family) know.
I talk with myself.
Not the usual “You can do it!” type of s**t.
Literally act like I am 2 people, that are having a conversation.
I called him “G”. He is ok.
Slept in my mom’s bed until I was 12 years old. Everyone believed I was just a momma’s boy, including myself. It was actually because I shared a bedroom with my brother who molested me. I start therapy soon.
I have a tendency to self isolate, and it’s damaged very long term friendships because people don’t understand that it’s not them it’s me and that I really mean no harm or have any ill feelings towards them, I just kinda want to recede into my own mind. I feel really bad about it and keep telling myself to reach out but I don’t.
I sometimes smile and laugh at tragic news/events, especially if I see someone else crying and/or is the barer of bad news.
I hate it, however I think I understand why it happens, it’s some sort of trauma defense mechanism because someone is expecting me to feel saddened and to frown.
I have no will to live and I’m only still here so I don’t upset my family and friends.
Since I was very young (age 9 or 10 I think), I’ve had thoughts that I was going to die young. The older I got, the age 24 just kept reoccurring. I’ll be 24 in a few months. I have appointments for neurologists for a suspected brain tumor coming up. Nothing is certain or set but this all feels very weird.
I have 2 lenses in my right eye, so it focuses like binoculars. My doctor wrote a paper about it. Mostly blinded as a baby in my left eye. Dr suspected my right lense split then healed as 2 distinct lenses. Better than 20/20 in my right eye.
I am a very friendly/nice/happy person trapped in the body of a dull, slow person.
I have bipolar 2, depression, anxiety, adhd, and fibromyalgia. I have had so many different medications over the course of my life that it has literally ruined my brain. Most of my life I have been very friendly and made friends easily enough. Over the last ten years I have been trying to get my various ailments under control using tons of different mediations and mental health treatments. Now I struggle greatly to show any emotion other than a stoic demeanor. I don’t laugh often (usually only when I am stoned), I will just call things out as funny and remain straight faced. My memory and cognitive function are compromised. It’s a f*****g nightmare to be a completely different person in your head.
Less scary and more shocking, but when I was 9 years old I survived a home invasion where I was [injured] 6 times. I played dead on the floor until the man left and called 911 and in my adrenaline rush I thought they couldn’t find my house so I crawled with my left are swinging the wrong way and my right leg limp from nerve damage, all the way to the front door when he broke in from the back of the house.
I lived with only my mother who unfortunately didn’t survive. I vividly remember picking out the guy in a photo line up while recovering in the ICU.
I am very lucky to have kept my left arm, I have 32 pins and screws to make up for my shattered elbow. My left leg has permanent nerve damage and I now have “drop foot”. Despite my physical injuries and PTSD, I am doing very well.
I’m intersex, and my bone structure is fully compromised, cause of deformities, and a lot of pain…
need surgeries that I’ll probably be never able to afford
will live life like a ghost inside a shell
I do not actually remember a decent chunk of my life, whenever I talk about most of my childhood I use words that leave room for mistakes and am generally using memories and ideas I’ve compiled from hearing other people say things about me.
There is actually a large chunks of facts about myself that I only think I know, and don’t have personal confirmation of.
I don’t usually experience grief when someone dies, unless the death was particularly tragic somehow (really young, suicide, etc.)
It’s not that I don’t love them, I just accept death as a part of life. It’s something that happens and it’s not something to wallow in for so long.
I love going to the dentist. I like that bit of pain when they scrape my teeth and gums.
When I was 18 years old, I was incarcerated for three years, found not guilty, and acquitted on all charges. I had roughly 12 charges, some of which would have led to life in prison had I been found guilty, but I knew I was innocent and decided to fight my case. My best friend at the time was found guilty and given three life sentences. At one point, 1 1/2 years in, the D.A. offered me seven years, and two felony strikes as a deal or I could roll on my best friend and go home that same day. I passed and had to continue to fight my case as I knew they didn’t have any solid evidence against me. As my parents ran out of money for an attorney, I was eventually appointed a State appointed attorney who fought for me tooth and nail. He kicked a*s and listened to everything I presented to him about why I wasn’t guilty. Mind you, I was 18 and I was surrounded by grown men and saw some horrific s**t. I kept in contact with my attorney afterward and informed him that I was still doing well out here; he died a couple of years ago.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I was no saint, I was in a gang and running the streets and up to no good, but I wasn’t guilty of these charges. A part of me felt that maybe it was the universes way of slowing me down and helping me get my s**t together. Took a short while but I’ve been on the right track.
This February will be 20 years since I’ve been released.
I just really dont care about people, I have a few friends i like to spend time with but I wouldnt feel anything if these friendships wouldnt last. When anybody i know tries to manipulate me or be toxic in any way i can just cut them off.
I have an enlarged aortic root. It’s very unlikely, but it could spontaneously rupture leading to the medical term *adjusts glasses*… “instantaneous death”. I would pass out, bleed to death, and then fall over. Dead before hitting the ground. And it could happen at any time. My wife is very uncomfortable thinking about it lol.
I was emotionally abused by my dad. He died of cancer around 6 years ago, and I felt nothing.
I felt bad that he was in so much pain. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I just remember waking up the day after he died and feeling so oddly at peace when there was no one yelling at me in my doorway. I truly believe his death helped me recover from my eating disorder, and I became so much less suicidal and reclusive after that.
I’m one of the lucky few with the CCR5-delta-32 mutation. Why is that relevant? It makes me immune to HIV and a handful of other pathogens, most notably the Bubonic Plague.
That I woke up in the middle of surgery and threw a mayo pan at a nurse before they pinned me back down and upped my dosage of sedatives. Key note still had retracters in so I briefly looked like a dead space enemy.
Have spotty memory of it. Sedation is very hit and miss with me. Has happened three times. Once during surgery, once during a nerve burn (never went out just paralyzed for about 3 minutes then started speaking during the procedure), the last was during colonoscopy (seriously painful and asked the doctor if he was an old scout leader he was laughing then asked the nurse if I was within range for another dose of sedative)
i can walk in a backbend. it looks demonic
i can do it cuz i have EDS and my connective tissue is basically shreaded chicken
oh and i can pop joints out of socket with little pain
Diabetes and high blood pressure and cholesterol (that I’ve had since I was 21) means that I’ll probably die an early death.
Might not be scary and unsettling to you, but it bums the s**t out of me.
Edit; thanks for the kind words everyone. I spent some time on my health, and went from being 230 lbs amd on injectable insulin in my late 20s, to be being 180 lbs and a regular jogger on only some oral meds in my early 30s. I’m now 42 and I’ve backslid, 195 lbs and not jogging. I’m still on only oral meds, no insulin, but my blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar are all creeping up and less poorly controlled. I don’t think I’m going to die tomorrow, but I’m still worried about having a lower standard of living in 20-30 years. So it’s time to put on my big boy pants and get back to work on myself.
I honesty barely know myself. Someone asks me about what I do, what I like, etc, and I legitimately have no idea
I’ve considered ending my life far more than my wife knows. Was once a serious option in my life when things got hard and I felt trapped. Sometimes it’s just a casual thought. I’m also a very light fun person in social situations, always trying to make people laugh. But I’m actually really depressed and can’t stand myself a lot of the time.
Edit 3: Thank you all for you kind words of encouragement. I hope we can all make it through whatever dark times we may find ourselves in.
Edit 2: I have been to therapy and have been on meds in the past. In between therapists right now due to an insurance change. And it’s challenging to find another therapist as helpful as my first one.
I’m heavily addicted to opioids and have been for nearly a decade. Absolutely nobody in my life knows. When I go without them and have withdrawals, I think about ending it all. I don’t even do them for the high, I have legitimate pain and they help massively. The high isn’t even much, just makes me feel happier with not being in pain
I have seen some gnarly s**t in my life. Aftermath of car accidents, VBED, IED, what your face looks like after you accidently bite down on a blasting cap, etc. Pretty much anyway a body can be mutilated, I’ve seen it first hand or had to sit through briefings on it. I’ve had to hold people’s heads still after they fell off a trailer while they bleed brain juice on to me just to make sure their neck doesn’t move.
You might be surprised that I look like a happy go lucky, long haired, mustachioed hippie that enjoys playing Magic the Gathering, and you would never know that sometimes when I look at people I have involuntary, sometimes terrifying, and intrusive thoughts imagining that they look like walking corpses.
I also like pineapple on pizza.
Edit: So the blasting cap story is hard to pin down. Some sources say it was a man in West Virginia that did it on a dare because his buddies were trying to blow up a fish tank. In other sources, especially those that go through medic school, CLS, and other additional school house training, it was a Marine biting down on a blasting cap either in a demonstration or because they were being stupid. While I’d never personally seen that particular event in real life, the images we were shown of that gentleman being treated were grotesque.
I can open metal caps glass bottles with my belly button.
My father hit me, sometimes closed fist. He even pointed a gun at my sister and I and threatened to pull the trigger if my mom left him. He’s also a drug addict.
That’s not the scary thing about me though. The scary thing about me is that my father is in me and can come out. People think I’m a really nice person and I really try to be a good person, but when I get angry, like really angry, he can come out. This is why I don’t drink or do drugs, I have to stay on top of it.
I have the belt that my father liked to hit us with, he wanted me to have it for some reason. I keep it hanging so that I have to always see it and remind myself to keep myself in check.
My voice sounds disturbingly like Andrew Tate’s. It’s been grossing me out lately. It’s that weird mix of British and American where it sounds like I’m faking both. (British dad, American mom in my case.)
I’m a woman.
I have type one bipolar woth psychotic symptoms. During manic episodes I have been known to have delusions of grandeur and paranoia.
During one such episode I attacked a friend with a butter knife I sharpened while making weapons in my garage so I could be a vigilante.
On another occasion a friend and I were out at 2AM and ended up in a quarrel with them over the knife. She grabbed the blade and I pulled it across her hand, cutting her finger to the bone. She has never regained feeling in that finger.
My daughter was an accident. I was planning on ghosting the guy and both our families and moving to a state where abortion was legal. The only reason I didn’t is because he came home from work early and saw me crying with the pregnancy tests next to me. We’re married now, though.
But, I would’ve OD’d on pills again if I hadn’t gotten pregnant. I got clean the second I found out. She’s the absolute light of my life and the only thing that keeps me alive every day.
I inherited a lot of money from my grandmother about 2 years ago that no one in my family knew existed. I still don’t know where it came from, her lawyer wouldn’t tell me, but it’s in the upper 7 figures.
My father, her son, got the flat she owned and we all thought that was everything she had. Apparently it wasn’t but I havent told anyone about it and I dont plan on doing so either.
I just work a normal 8-5 desk job, rent a flat downtown of the City i live in (nothing expensive) and live a normal life on my own. No partner or children, no expensive vacations, I don’t even have a car lol.
I just don’t feel comfortable sharing this secret and the longer I keep it the stranger it would get telling it.
TLDR: I’m a millionaire because my grandmother died and no one knows about it.
Edit: I’m trying to answer to as many people as possible but as I said I still have a normal job so here are the answers to the most asked questions/Suggestions.
1. What do you want to do with the money?
I dont know yet, for now its safe where it is and I will either use it or invest it once I think its time. Maybe in a week, maybe never.
2. Can you give me X amount of money?
No, it wouldnt be fair to give it to one person and deny it another. I also dont really care about your tragic stories in my DMs, I read them and just get depressed so please dont.
3. Can I be “in your life”?
No I also dont want to adopt you/get to know you or be in a relationship with you (except for big tiddie goth GFs)
4. You have to invest in bitcoin/real estate/stocks/your friendly neighbourhood pyramid scheme!
No, f**k off.
I know most of you are genuine, nice people but I dont want your advice.
If this makes me sound like a douche I’m fine with that, it’s just a lot right now.
Thanks for coming to my TED talk.
Got E.coli poisoning at age 3 and was about to die, slept for 3 whole a*s days after 8 days of bleeding in and out and operations and such –
Fact aint really scary or nothing, but I can never get E.coli poisoning again, I’m immune.
Edit: Forgot to say, there’s also a news article about me, but I probably won’t be sharing because of info people on the internet shouldn’t have access to
I don’t know if “scary, unsettling” quite fits here, but if I met you 3 years ago and then haven’t seen you since then, I will remember your name and several random things you told me.
I’ve had to learn to play dumb and act like I don’t remember certain things, because it creeps people the f**k out and gives off a stalkery vibe. Though it is useful when I want to screw with someone.
I am depressed, I want to off myself, and yet, I seem more or less normal on the outside. I often wonder how many people like me are there, hiding in plain sight.
When I was a kid, I used to point scissors at my eyes and run through the house with my eyes closed.
Not really scary, but more unsettling for me. I hooked up with a girl years ago who was cheating on her man, she got pregnant and I’m not allowed to have any contact with the kid even though the other guy isn’t in the picture anymore. I just feel bad for the kid more than anything.
i used to purposefully go for girls who had no dads cause they were easier to manipulate
When people annoy Me I have little fantasies about bashing their faces in with blunt objects and walking away with a smirk on my face, I would never but ya know……
I pooped in my neighbors backyard when I was 8 years old. Just gargoyled under his jungle gym and let loose. This is the first I’ve talked about it in over 20 years…
I went to a GP in agonising pain. I vomited around 20-30 times consecutively on their restroom floor. I was told it was a UTI. Recovered a little.
Next day was in more pain and after seeing a couple doctors. I was rushed to hospital for emergency operation on a testicular torsion. I ended up losing one testicle. Spent the night there before returning home.
One day later I met the love of my life and never looked back since. But that two days of pain was something nobody should have to go through.
When I was born, I was so premature that my dad, who had quite dainty piano fingers, could slide his wedding ring up my arm to my shoulder. (I weighed 2 lbs, born at 27 weeks).
I really like when people are upset around me. Not because of me but around me. Coming to me for comfort and such. It’s like, yesss they need me. Just gets me on another level
I’m not proud of it, but lives have been taken as a result of my work, and I’ve watched it happen.
I am the toxic one. This is one of the rarest occasions i’ll accept it and say it out loud. Good question. But I never want to admit that again.
I was 1lb 11oz when I was born, born 4 months early. And somehow I’m a fully functioning adult and survived school 🙌🏻
People will just come up to me, unprompted, and tell me about the dark aspects of their life.
How their last date groped them. How their parent is dying and they are tired of putting on a brave face. How they got into a loveless marriage because it was economically convenient at the time and now, two kids in, they can’t possibly leave. That they REALLY want to have an affair because they never dated before their current marriage. That they are homeless and literally sleeping in their car outside work at night, but ‘shhhhh’ don’t tell anyone.
It can be at work, a coffeeshop, at the mechanic, etc. I just do the usual, “Hey, how’s I going?” or “What’s going on?” or “You good?”
#People #Answer #Scary #Unsettling #Fact #Range #Bizarre #Dark #Disturbing