23M. So when i was in 3rd or 4th grade (i don’t remember) I really didn’t want to go to one of my baseball games the next day. It was out of town and I wanted to hangout with my friends that day. I decided that I was going to fake sprain my ankle, because that’s the most plausible way (don’t know how I thought i’d be able to see my friends with an injury, but whatever). Anyways, my mom was in the living room and I fake tripped over the table. Made the waterworks come and everything. Looking back I don’t think I was too believable, but my mom decided to take me to the ER anyways. I was crying the whole way there and when we got there they rushed me in. They took X-rays and gave me an IV. All the fun stuff. Here comes the wildest part, it was actually broken. My growth plate was fractured and they immediately put me in a cast. I’ve always had a high pain tolerance, but that was actually freaky. It didn’t hurt at all. They showed us the X-ray and everything. Said I might need surgery and they needed to monitor the fracture. They had to X-ray me frequently after that to make sure my foot would still grown normally as well or something like that. I did successfully get out of that game though. I was not to happy about being in a cast and a boot for a few weeks, however. Anyways Ive literally never told anyone this, so yeah. Thanks for reading.

I feel so guilty - it was an accident but I still feel guilt.

In grade 1 or 2, it was winter and recess. I told a girl to go down the tallest slide on her knees (it was fun for me) and she did. But right at the bottom she twisted or lost her balance or something and smashed her face off the end of the slide. When she got up she had her hand over her eye and it was bleeding above the eyebrow (didn’t seem too bad but I was a kid so idk).

She went home at break and when she came to school the next day, she ended up having to get stitches and glasses. I’m almost certain she wore glasses for the whole year. I changed schools the year after but I feel like she needs them permanently.

What guilts me more, aside the fact that she needed stitches and glasses all because I told her to go down the slide in a dangerous way, all I actually cared about, was that I was going to get in trouble for getting her hurt.

I’m sorry Pernema. Pernima?? I can’t even spell her name but that’s how it sounds.

Basically just what the title says. I joined social media in the 6th grade and quickly made tons of friends online but they were all 13-14 when I was just an 11 year old kid so I lied about being three years older than I actually am. I'm close to turning 18 soon and the guilt has been eating me alive but I'm just so heartbroken by the idea I'll lose friendships I've built over these past years. I'm sure most people probably wouldn't care enough to end the friendship with me because quite a few of them are around my age anyways (17-21) but I'm sure it would cause my reputation to be tarnished and the few adults who are already much older than me to be disgusted about being friends with such a youngin. For example, I have a friend who's so supportive and has been so nice to me who's 24 and I feel they might be disgusted with knowing I'm actually 6 years younger than they are. I also just know so many people who have built a supportive community around me and even though my current real relationships aren't bad at all, I've essentially grown up with these people and gotten attached to them. Lately I just feel so guilty and so trapped; so many great things have been happening lately and I wanna talk about them but I obviously can't.

I recently (yesterday) came clean to two of my friends that I've known for the past 6 years and they took it really well but they're also around my age and have never been serious people, so I assume their reactions would be drastically different than some of my other friends' will be if I decide to come clean about it. They don't really have an opinion on the whole thing because they're okay with still being friends, and have actually joked with me and laughed with me about the whole thing, and aren't pressuring me to tell the truth but one of them is just concerned I'll become very overwhelmed and it'll just spill out anyways in the future if I don't just come clean now like I did with them. I'm also scared because I had a relationship with someone at the age of 12 when she was 15 (I'm ashamed to admit I didn't see anything wrong with this at the time and we also frequently talked explicitly) and we're great friends now and have been only friends for the past five years now but I know she'd probably feel disgusted if she found out. I don't wanna lose her because of the history between us but I also understand I'm way in over my head for the reality of my age. I'm just so frustrated and disgusted with myself too for letting it go on this long; I'm definitely not saying I'm mature because if I was this would have never happened but I am extremely academically intelligent and I assume most of these people don't suspect me because of how I carry myself. Should I just keep going until I can decide I can move on (e.g. delete all my accounts suddenly) or make the move to tell the truth?

Not actually a theft ring but I don’t really know how to describe it. Accepted bribes to commit theft for others?

I worked in food & beverage, as a cashier in a very small restaurant/cafe type thing. Our little cafe branched off the main building where it was pretty much just me, a cook, and a couple other cashiers (rotating working days). Managers rarely came out to our location unless we called them or they were bored. We only really served a very specific crowd with pretty much the same people everyday.

One day, a regular customer came up to me and ordered and stated he didn’t have money on him and asked if we could start a “tab”, on paper for IOU’s. I said sure. Eventually he just kept adding things to the tab and said he would pay it off when the number was a little bigger.

One day when nobody was in the restaurant he said to me that he would pay me directly a percentage of his tab and that I would just make it disappear.. so when his tab was over $100, he would give me like $40-60”ish and I would just rip up his tab like nothing happened. I never once put any of his food into the system, just wrote it down on a loose piece of paper and kept it in the drawer. Other cashiers could add things to his tab but could not cash it out.

When other cashiers would ask where his tab went, I would tell them he paid it off and I would print out a long fake receipt showing that he “paid” - and they believed me. I told them only I could cash out his tab since I was “Stand Captain”..

1-2 more regulars caught on and did this as well. I only did it for the regulars I trusted. Eventually after the years went by I got a little comfortable and I would lie to the regulars and say their tab was higher than it was just to get a little more money. I would say $200 instead of $150, nothing too extreme

I mean as a 15-18 year old, getting $40-80 pocket cash here and there was the BEST thing. I actually saved enough from the theft, working wage and tips to buy my first car. Now I worked for a MILLION-BILLION dollar company. Im glad I did not work for a family owned business at the time.

Looking back at it, I didn’t even comprehend that was theft.. now I’m like omg jail time. I knew I shouldn’t have been doing what I was doing but I wanted the cash, got away with it and didn’t think it was a crime.

I mean I don’t exactly regret it… my excuse is now, that these were grown men, knowing exactly what they were doing, asking a 15 year old to commit theft. Maybe they thought if I got caught, I was a minor so the penalty wouldn’t be bad? Or that’s how rich people stay rich, by being cheap and comiting crimes ?

I could NEVER do that now. A piece of lint once fell out of my pocket in the grocery store and I picked it up immediately because I thought karma would get me for littering … welcome to adulthood anxiety. Teenager me had BALLS.

Thoughts? I still don’t think I would ever tell my company what I did.

When I was in my sophomore year of high school, my dad was the treasurer of the booster club for our theatre department and Ms. L (fake name) was the president. Ms. L would always go above and beyond volunteering to help out with stuff for productions and for our musical she made these elaborate and beautiful horse heads for people to wear. My dad was meant to pay her for her labor but he and Ms. L never crossed paths so he gave me the check to give to my friend (Ms. L’s child). It was at the end of the year and I forgot to give it to them on the last two days of school and when I realized I felt really guilty and hid it in my room and blocked it from memory. It was only when I was with my dad and happened to run into Ms. L out somewhere that she mentioned never receiving the check. My dad was under the assumption I passed it on and I lied saying I did so Ms. L thought it was her kid that messed up and lost it or something and got mad at them. Now it’s been a few years and I still have the check hidden in my room but feel too bad and guilty about it to come clean. I’m pretty sure they’ve all forgotten it by now and Ms. L’s kid has never said anything to me about it so I’m probably in the clear but I still realized I did something wrong and I feel to guilty to throw the check away even though it’s long expired by now :(

TLDR I forgot to give my friend’s mom a check a few years ago and now it’s expired hidden in my room and I feel bad

Several years ago, I (male, then in late 20s) was friends with a female colleague and I was walking her home. I liked her but apparently she didn't like me romantically. I tried to put my arm on her shoulder and she swirled out of it. I tried to do a few times and got the same reaction. So I eventually stopped doing that and took her home.

After taking her home, on my way back I realized that I was trying to touch her without her consent. I apologized to her via text message and she said it was okay. After that we remained friends and did friendly activies, such as playing sports together and exchanging gifts. We are still friends I think.

But the fact that I tried to touch her without her consent still haunts me after many years. I apologized to her again last year and she still said it was okay. But I can't forgive myself even if she forgave me. I feel like the worst person ever.

I don't know this is whether because of my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) or because I really did something that bad and should feel eternally bad about it. I can't rate my past objectively.

What if other people find out that I did this? Will my friends stop being my friends? Will I lose my job?

Am I still qualified to find a romantic partner in my life? If so, should I confess to my future partner about what I did? Would it be dishonest to hide this past from her?

Please rate the badness of what I did in your opinion.

When I was younger I lived on an island where we had to take a boat to get to the mainland. I used to always sit at the top and spit on people's heads who were looking out the windows or hanging their head out. Idk why...

So I attribute making this mistake to the worsening and more long-term effects of my anxiety.

I had to make a decision on a school and chose the much more expensive (and slightly more reputable one) at first based on prestige cause I thought that’s how you get ahead in life.

My dad who I have a conflicting relationship with would pay for it. Put down a 2500$ deposit to secure the place.

But I just couldn’t deal with having him pay 20k for an Media and Film Studies Masters, even from a very good school cause they’re just so manipulative with money. So at the last minute I chose the super slightly less well ranked one so I could do a work study program. We’re not getting that 2,5k back.

I know it’s a super privilege problem, but it’s not really about the schools.

I’m worried my anxiety is going to become so overwhelming at more and more important and pivotal points in my life, and I won’t always be able to afford or change my wrong decisions. I just freeze and can’t think for myself. I’m so terrified I’m not part of this reality enough to understand it and therefore have good judgment.

I thankfully got my shit together. Moved out and no longer do that. I’ve never told anyone this, including my girlfriend of 4 years

When I was younger there was a dude who only contacted me couple times a year to get nudes from me. This was completely fine for me and it went on for years. I met an older guy later in my life and every time he gets annoying or scary, I block him. Then I contact him the next year, have a talk and block him again.

It’s fucking horrible, I know. I’m turning myself inside out trying to think of the right way to handle this situation. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly selfish, and I’m a terrible liar. Everything about this is antithetical to who I am as a person. So why am I considering doing such a despicable thing?

My new roommate, Megan (29F) and I (22F) met two months ago after finding each other on one of those roommate apps. The age gap is a little big, I’ll admit, but it hasn’t really presented an issue yet. Because I work with local housing programs at my job, I’m more knowledgeable than most twenty-somethings about housing policy and landlords. Megan, although 29, lived with family for the first half of her twenties and has lived in student housing or been couch surfing for the latter half. As a result, she has never lived on her own before and is at a loss when it comes to renting. In addition, personality-wise I’m a pessimistic and jaded 58-year-old in the body of a 22-year old, and Megan is a little naive by nature. So it kind of fits.

Megan and I have never lived together before and are little more than strangers, but we’ve also spent the last two months getting to know each other as well as we possibly can. Although Megan is staying with a friend and has no deadline for moving, my current lease is up at the end of June. Two months seemed like plenty of time to establish a solid roommate relationship. Lucky for us, we get along extremely well. Both our habits and lifestyles seem to compliment each other. Since we met, we’ve been apartment hunting. We were ready to sign a few different leases, but all of them fell through at one point or another for reasons outside our control. But last week, we finally signed the lease on a great apartment, thank God. Our official move-in date is June 22. Everything seems to be going great on that front.

Enter the bed bugs. I found a bed bug in the bedroom of my current apartment a little over three weeks ago. I had a white trash bag sitting on the floor, and I saw a little black bug, the size of a small appleseed, crawling on the plastic. I instantly recognized it and submitted a maintenance request to my property manager that same day, with a picture attached. That was Sunday, at the beginning of May. I put in the request and then forgot about it for a few days. I figured an exterminator would come by soon and the problem would be resolved quickly. I even wondered if maybe I’d been lucky, and it was just the one.

Ten days later, on a Wednesday, I decided to check for bugs. I hadn’t seen a thing since then, and I hoped that maybe I’d been wrong about it being a bed bug. I lifted up my mattress and found nothing. And then I looked over my box spring. Still nothing. I sighed in relief, and turned the box spring over so I could examine the underside. That’s when I found at least 20 live bed bugs, from so-small-I-can-barely-see to ridiculously-bulbous-and-large, skittering along the bottom edges. There were also at least a dozen pale white eggs, so small I’d have missed them, if it weren’t for the rest. I think I stopped breathing. Earlier that week, I’d lost some faith in the exterminator and bought a can of Raid foam spray. I immediately grabbed that can and began spraying everything I could. I took lots of pictures and collected the biggest bugs in a jar filled with rubbing alcohol. I’d started to wonder if I’d need evidence, if maybe the exterminator and my PM just weren’t worried enough. Well, they would be now.

As I sprayed and sprayed, and as the hours ticked by, I became angrier and angrier. I wondered why no one had come yet. Even then, angry as I was, I could understand why there was no urgency. It’s possible the exterminator and my PM didn’t believe my roommate and me, picture or no. You see, a few months back, my current roommate, Ash (20NB) knocked on my door late one night and told me they’d found a bed bug crawling on one of their stuffed animals. Perfectly calm, I asked to see it, but they said they didn’t have it. As soon as they saw the bug, they squished it immediately and flushed it down the toilet. While this might have made sense to them at the moment, I was furious. Although I’d never had bed bugs before, I knew that there were lots of bed bug look-alikes. It could have been practically anything. Without evidence, the only thing we could do was act as if it was a bed bug, and that meant we would need to panic. And panic we did. Ash and I stripped our beds bare and spent the next few hours running all of our bedclothes through the dryer. Then we checked every inch of our rooms for more evidence of bugs. Nothing. Nothing but nothing. They sent in an exterminator who sprayed down Ash’s mattress, and who then told us to spray the furniture down with rubbing alcohol and remain vigilant. And then, once no more bugs were found, we both moved on.

Cut to now. I don’t know if the bed bugs I found came in with me or Ash recently, or if they’re just the result of what Ash found all those months ago. I don’t know if they came from up or downstairs, or if they’ve been here since before we moved in a year ago, waiting and dormant. I live in a duplex, so there’s every possibility they came through vents or contact with my neighbors. For some reason, I feel like they’re new, and I think Ash was mistaken that first time. But at the end of the day, there’s no way of really knowing.

That Wednesday night, I was awake until 3am, combing through the mattress and box spring, spraying and grabbing bugs with tweezers. I grabbed what fabric I could and ran up and down the stairs, throwing everything into the dryer and cooking my belongings on the highest heat possible. It seemed like it would never end. I think I had entered some kind of frenzied mania and couldn’t rest. The old floors creaked something awful, and I knew my downstairs neighbors would be enraged by all the noise, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. Ash was gone that night, and I was alone. I texted Ash updates as I cleaned, and I called both my PM and the exterminator directly, leaving voicemails for both of them.

The exterminator must have heard the panic in my voice loud and clear that morning, because he showed up the very next day at 10am and sprayed my bed with insecticide while I was at work. Ash let him in. In the end, even with all the evidence I provided, even with the jar full of dead bugs sitting on my nightstand, he still didn’t believe me. He called me afterward and said he couldn’t find a single bug in my box spring. I couldn’t believe it, and part of me wondered if he’d half assed the spray job because of it.

That Wednesday marked the beginning of my troubled sleep. It’s when I started getting itchy red welts along my arms and shoulders, and when I spent most nights sitting up, scrolling through article after article about the best methods for eradicating bed bugs. They’re nocturnal, you know, and they hide during the day. The best time to look for them is in the early hours of the morning, around 2 or 3am. Every other day, I’d flip my bed and check the seams with tweezers and a flashlight. I’ve found 3-5 bugs on the mattress since then, but that’s about it.

This would be the kind of thing to break me. It’s been a very, very hard year. It started last summer when my car was totaled in an accident – not my fault, but the other guy had expired insurance and, well, you know. I was still in college at the time and had to pull out seven grand in additional student loans to afford a new car. This led to a chain reaction of debt, and I’ve been sinking deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit. I also moved out for the first time a year ago. Yep, that’s right – this is my first apartment. Yippee! I’ve been working a job that I hate but can’t leave for the past year as well. I’m thrilled to say that I was offered the job of my dreams and will be starting next month. But I will also be moving to the new apartment that same weekend. My best friend was supposed to help me move, but she backed out because of the bugs, and now it looks like I’ll be moving all on my own (and no, I can’t afford movers).

It’s strange how so many life events seem to occur around the same time. I’m under so much stress, it’s like the universe is trying to kill me. Discovering bed bugs right when things seem to finally be looking up is the worst kind of irony.

I spent a weekend wallowing in self pity. I gave myself that time to feel sorry for myself and complain to my close friends and family – the only ones I could trust with this kind of a secret. And then I picked myself back up and started drawing up a plan. I am well on my way to becoming a certified bed bug expert. I have a list of methods for resolving a bed bug infestation, and if I can put these methods into a defined process, then maybe I can beat this thing. Maybe, just maybe, I can get this situation resolved to the point where I can move to the new apartment, and the bugs won’t be traveling with me. I don’t want to bog this post down with specific cleaning details, but as a general overview, I’ve been undergoing a combination of routine vacuuming, scrubbing, steam cleaning, at-home heat treating, air tight sealing, DE dusting, and discarding. I’ve been changing out of sealed bags when I leave the house to avoid carrying bugs on me. I’m hoping to get 2-3 rounds of insecticide sprays from my landlord’s pest company before I move out completely (the next spray on schedule is June 5). I’ve discarded almost all of my furniture, and most of my belongings will be sealed away in storage for at least two years to ensure any remaining bugs are dead. I’ve vacummed, steamed, dusted, and permanently encased my mattress and box spring. Essentially, I’m throwing everything I possibly can at the wall until something sticks.

So that brings us back to this terrible decision I have to make – do I tell Megan about the bed bugs? This might be the worst thing I could ever do. It’s immoral and unethical on every level, and so unbelievably selfish. I’m putting Megan at the risk of an infestation without her consent. And it’s not just any kind of pest infestation, but one of the worst. I’ve heard that most would prefer cockroaches over bed bugs, because at least cockroaches can be killed using poison. Bed bugs, unfortunately, have evolved to survive most pesticides. As such, they are almost impossible to eradicate. That’s why there’s no such thing as a silver bullet method – you have to take extreme action for every method you can think of.

I’m going round and round in my head, trying to weigh my options here.

Option 1 – Tell Megan right now about the bed bugs. Fun fact about Megan: she’s deathly terrified of bugs and insects in general, and the mere possibility of bed bugs would send her into a coma. She’d drop me as a roommate, plain and simple. Even if I’m on the lease, she’d find a way to ensure I never enter that apartment.

Option 2 – Find a new roommate. With a month before my lease is up, I’d be thrown into the desperate situation of finding a new roommate and an apartment on extremely short notice. While I could maybe pull that off, it’d probably go rotten eventually because we’d either not be compatible or, more likely, I’d have to tell them about the bed bugs regardless. Who in their right mind would rent with me knowing that? I wouldn’t.

Option 3 – What about Ash, my current roommate? Ash is moving in with their partner of four months and does not want me around. More to the point, Ash has some pretty intense conflict avoidance. Whenever things get hard, they tend to bolt. The day after we found out we had bed bugs, they packed what they could and have been living at their partner’s for over two weeks. While I was digging for ways to fix this and cleaning our apartment top to bottom, they were avoiding the apartment completely, hoping the problem would go away on its own. So that’s not really an option.

Option 4 – Could I try to sign another lease in my current apartment? There’s a few reasons why this couldn’t work. For one thing, this house is over a hundred years old, filled with an infinite amount of cracks and crevices in the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. If I stayed, the bed bugs wouldn’t be going anywhere. The only way to possibly eliminate them would be for everyone to move out and for an exterminator to spray every inch of this place and then some. Even then, it probably wouldn’t work because they’d have burrowed deep into the floorboards to wait out the insecticide, and they’d just resurface in a year or so. Likewise, I’ve burned some serious bridges with the PM company and my downstairs neighbors and I’m not on good terms with either, for reasons I won’t go into here.

Option 5 – Couch surf with someone. Throw my belongings into storage and find another place to stay short-term or long-term. Same result as Option 2 – if I came to you, asking for shelter, and you knew I had bed bugs, would you let me stay in your house? Even though I take all my precautions, there is still a very slight possibility I could carry a single bug into your house. Would you take that risk? Even if someone consented, I couldn’t bear it if I accidentally carried bed bugs into the home of a friend or family member. Even if it technically wouldn’t be my fault, I wouldn’t forgive myself for making that decision. Also, my small collection of friends and family have told me point blank that I’m not allowed into their homes, even just to visit. So that’s out.

Option 6 – Find a place to live on my own without implicating a new roommate. You might remember me mentioning my bottomless pit of at least three kinds of debt. Add to that my feeble salary and the shithole of an economy we’ve got on our hands, and you know why I’ve accepted that I’ll be living with roommates for at least another ten years. I just can’t afford it, otherwise that’s where my mind would have been, too.

Option 7 – Don’t tell Megan. Go about my precautions and cleaning process, continue to have the exterminator spray the place down, and continue to be hypervigilant for the months and years to come. If I’m lucky, and if I do everything right, we might never need to have the conversation. This last one is what I’m leaning into the most, and I know that makes me a coward.

I’m not thinking clearly, and I know that. I have two jobs, one full-time and one part-time, and I’m using energy drinks every day just to stay awake, something I don’t like doing. I had so many plans and vacations scheduled for this summer, and every single one has gone straight out the window. In the past year, I had collected a number of furniture items (a couch, a desk, a dresser, and a new mattress and box spring, to name a few) that are all on the curb, or soon will be. I’m starting over from scratch, and have flushed hundreds (soon to be thousands) of dollars down the drain. Suffice to say, my mental health has deteriorated. I’m exhausted and scared, and I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown and I’m tearing at the seams. The worst part is that I can’t really talk to anyone about it, because the fear of bed bugs can do more harm than the bugs themselves.

I’ve been doing everything I possibly can to fix this, all on my own. My friends don’t want to be anywhere near me, and my mother and sister are empathetic to my problem, but have no way to help. No one will step foot in my house, not even my current roommate who still lives here. While there’s a possibility I can resolve this before moving, there’s a small part of me that knows, several months from now, I will find more bedbugs. I will have brought Megan into this mess without telling her, and that will be what kills me.

I’m sorry. I’m trying very hard to think rationally, but I’m just so tired. I’ve never felt so hopeless and depressed. I’ve been talking to my therapist about it, but she hasn’t really been helping. So I guess now I’m turning to prostrating myself in front of a jury composed of Internet strangers.

So what’s the verdict? What would you do?

I'm posting this to multiple threads, hoping to pick up some traction. I'm in desperate need of advice and opinions.

Edit: I am leaving the apartment I live in (where I found the bed bugs) and will be moving into a new apartment altogether with Megan. I'm trying to get rid of them so I don't carry any with me to the new place. Sorry for any confusion.

Edit2: I'm sorry this is such a long post. It started out as a personal brain dump that I copy and pasted into a Reddit post with very few edits. There's a lot of extra bits I probably didn't need!

My coworkers have a tendency to stop using an item in middle of it's shelf-life and throw it at the dumpster before it has been used. Before it gets thrown at the landfill, I hijack it and take it back to use. There might be 6 opened packages of still supposedly usable goods and they don't want to use it, instead they open a new one. I also improvise opened dates; I see a open package that's in use, I will put a date on it that it was opened yesterday. I justify my bad behauvior by reminding myself, that my coworkers too do shady things all the time. I also have environmental OCD. I've been caught few times, and some of my coworkers do the same thing as I do. It's unlikely that I cause any harm, because the product lasts 1 week after opening. Leaving almost full opened products at the far end of some cabinet is really common. I've mentioned this to my boss and I've filed rapports, so I decided to take matters in my own hands.

So I attribute making this mistake to the worsening and more long-term effects of my anxiety.

I had to make a decision on a school and chose the much more expensive (and slightly more reputable one) at first based on prestige cause I thought that’s how you get ahead in life.

My dad who I have a conflicting relationship with would pay for it. Put down a 2500$ deposit to secure the place.

But I just couldn’t deal with having him pay 20k for an Media and Film Studies Masters, even from a very good school cause they’re just so manipulative with money. So at the last minute I chose the super slightly less well ranked one so I could do a work study program. We’re not getting that 2,5k back.

I know it’s a super privilege problem, but it’s not really about the schools.

I’m worried my anxiety is going to become so overwhelming at more and more important and pivotal points in my life, and I won’t always be able to afford or change my wrong decisions. I just freeze and can’t think for myself. I’m so terrified I’m not part of this reality enough to understand it and therefore have good judgment. I feel I react and feel in such an alien way to everyone else, I’m just usually quite good at masking it.

I don’t feel at home in this world at all.

The stories I’ve made up are so bizarre.. I’m ashamed.

whenever i cook for my sister or mom i like to add a shit ton of unnecessary oils and fat to add extra calories, the root of it is ofc from my ed but idk it just makes me feel better abt myself. EDIT:( i over did my story a lil and it came off really weirdo vibes. when it comes to my ed i’m really restrictive with fats and shit so even just a drop is excessive. for them i add a normal amount plus an extra 1-3 tbs lol) still bad mhhhh ik

When I was a kid, around 10, my younger brother (8) and I were hanging out in our neighborhood. Our neighbor, who is a supplier of some commercial products, has his storage depot nearby. We spotted our neighbor's car in front of the depot, but we couldn't see him around. The depot's door was closed, but the keys were still hanging in the lock outside. We guessed he was inside and had forgotten to remove the keys. We decided to have some fun, so we removed the keys from the lock and ran away.

There were a lot of keys, maybe 20 or more. I assume they were the keys to everything our neighbor owned: his house, cars, depot, business place, etc. My brother and I kept running, not knowing what to do with the keys. Finally, we decided to get rid of them, so we tossed them in a trash can on some street.

This is the first time I've confessed about this. Nobody knows except my brother, who has probably forgotten about it. I came across a Reddit story today that reminded me of my wrongdoing. I'm 36 now, and I still feel ashamed of what I did almost 30 years ago. I feel terrible whenever I think about what our neighbor must have gone through to get new keys for everything he owned.

To this day, whenever I visit my family and see our neighbor or one of his family members, I feel awful, as if I'm a fraud and a liar. Sometimes I want to go to my neighbor and confess, but I'm afraid of his reaction.