We are all haunted by something. Perhaps a tragic moment from the past, an uncertain future, a ghost whispering threats in the wee hours of the night. But none of that may be as torturous as the part of our lives that we choose to conceal from others.
As a cathartic exercise in expression, people went to Reddit to anonymously share the secret they have sworn to take to their graves, fearing that the life they hold dear would never be the same if properly revealed. These are the most shocking of them all.
Content has been edited for clarity.
"My daughter turns 5 next week. If anyone knew the truth behind her parentage, I could probably lose her forever.
I grew up in foster care. I never knew my parents or siblings. In my senior year, I met an older guy and we dated for almost a year, getting pregnant about 7 months in. One night, while we were watching TV, the subject somehow came around to our real parents. He had been adopted as a young child.
Turns out the man I was seeing, the father of my daughter, is my half-brother. We have the same mother. Our relationship didn't last, and he is not in her life, per his own choices. My daughter is extremely smart, beautiful, and well-rounded. She'll never know the truth. Her father and I made a pact to never tell her.
I just hope she never needs a kidney or something."
"I'm a guy in my late 20s who was taken into care aged 7. Everyone around me already knows that I was brought up by foster families because I had a crap early childhood. I deliberately keep it vague and say stuff like 'I'd rather not go into it' so that people will just assume I was abused in some way and they'll stop asking about it.
The truth is that for the first 7 years of my life, I was brought up as a girl by my psycho birth mother who really, really, really, wanted a daughter and didn't let the snag of giving birth to a boy stop her from trying to raise one.
She was a pretty successful professional in a legal field (not entirely sure what) and had me via anonymous sperm donor from a fertility clinic. She found out I was a boy at a late ultrasound and then moved across the country. Gave birth to me at home and continued to move about until I was 5 or so. It was just the two of us all my life. We had contact with other people, of course, but they rarely got very close. I had lots of friends, but was always supervised.
I found out way way after that my mother's strong puritanical Christianity was a lie she used to explain why she was so strict about me being 'private' and never letting anyone see me get changed or anything. I just accepted all of this as fact, having never been told anything different.
I was sent to a religious school for girls and had a really great childhood. I was a bit of a tomboy, and played with LEGO and toy animals, rather than dolls and stuff, but that's not unusual and no one ever questioned I was a girl - even me. I knew about men and women, but had never really seen much of naked people. My mother never ever spoke to me about it, but I kind of had the impression that when I grew up and my chest grew out and stuff, my member would kinda fall off or something and I would be a woman, and other kids would keep their members and they'd be men. I dunno. To be honest, I never really thought about it.
Anyway, I carried on with my happy girlhood and had a bunch of friends and everything was great until I was 7 and a teacher accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee over me at school. The liquid soaked through my clothes and was scalding me so the staff immediately stripped me out of my dress and underwear to get the hot coffee away from my skin. And then they found out.
The cops were called and I got taken to speak with who I guess would be Social Services. They asked me a bunch of questions about life at home and stuff. Meanwhile, my mother was taken in for questioning too. She refused to acknowledge me as male and insisted I was her daughter. Because she was, y'know, delusional and stuff, I wasn't allowed to go back home, but got put with a foster family and went through loads of therapy and stuff.
The worst part was that literally overnight, I lost EVERYTHING. My mother, my home, all my toys, all my clothes. I moved schools, so I lost all my friends. They cut all my hair off and told me I wasn't a girl any more. It was really really traumatic.
I think, when people see stories of abused kids and they say 'why weren't they taken away from the parents sooner?' they don't really realize how hard it is for kids to lose everything, even though they're being 'rescued.' Kids just want things to stay safe and familiar. I loved my mother intensely, and as far as I was concerned, when i was 7, I'dd been kidnapped by strangers! It took a very long time to fully realize what she did to me, and even longer to 'let go' of loving her!
The first foster home wasn't that great. They had three boys already and going from a sheltered 'religious' only-child upbringing to a rough-and-tumble testosterone-filled environment was really difficult. They tried to force me to be masculine and I was just too confused about what they wanted. Anything 'girly' was reprimanded and I felt so lost and alone because nothing I did was right.
I tried to commit suicide when I was 11 and again at 13 because I didn't feel I fitted in anywhere. After the second attempt, they moved me to a different foster family who were awesome. I consider them to be my parents. They actually stood up for me. The first thing was that they let me grow my hair. From when i got taken into care, they buzzed my hair short, and I hated it. They always had to hold me down and do it forcibly while I was crying and fighting. My new parents flatly refused to do it and said that loads of boys had long hair. They also let me quit karate and football and take up swimming and jazz dance. Since I'd been in care, no one had ever stood up for my right to choose what activities to do, or how to dress before. It was amazing.
I met my birthmother a few times since, but it wasn't good. She would either be all over me trying to be nice and dismiss everything that happened as inconsequential, or she'd be crazy-angry at me for destroying her little girl. The day she yelled that at me was the day I think my love for her withered and died. This woman was not my mommy, she was just some lady who gave birth to me. I remember the empty feeling as that connection switched off.
We exchanged letters a few times when I was in my late teens, but frankly I just wasn't interested. I had my family around me and just didn't need her any more. Now she doesn't know my name or where I live or what I'm doing and no one from like, the social worker side of things is allowed to tell her. I can contact her, if I want, through the social workers, but I don't want to - and she's never tried to contact me since the letters dried up years ago.
In the end, I came out of it with a pretty healthy gender identity. I'm a guy, but not the most butch guy ever, but i'm fine with that. I went through school and got my degree and have a pretty good job and an amazing, supportive wife. Yes, my wife knows all about it and a couple of very, very close friends. I'm deliberately vague with most other people, if it's brought up at all. I know it's a bit of a lie, but I prefer to let people assume I must have been badly abused than to start a huge long conversation about my gender/orientation.
Everything looks great. But I can never speak about my early childhood and how I grew up as a little girl."
"I'm a 25-year-old female high school teacher. I've gotten myself off on multiple occasions while fantasizing about making love to one of my 16-year-old male students on top of the desk in my classroom.
He's exactly my type: tall, blonde, athletic, etc. Also, he has amazing shoulder muscles. I'm a big fan of shoulders. Now that it's getting warmer, he's been wearing tank tops. It's really distracting.
I find myself touching him every time he's in my class. I'll lightly put my hand on his arm, back, or shoulder while talking to/helping him. When I help him, I'll sometimes rest one hand on his desk and the other on the back of his desk and lean down so that my chest is around his eye level and my entire forearm is touching his back. I can normally feel him tense up when that happens, which is exciting to me as well.
He knows that I do this by now, and he still calls me over to help him multiple times each class period. I'd think he would ask one of his friends or just give up on the problem if he didn't like it (he's smart, but not really that motivated to actually learn the math). He also sometimes pushes his weight into my arm. If it bothered him, he'd probably lean forward to get away from it. He also volunteers every time I ask for someone to help me clean the board/pass out papers/whatever. As I said before, it's pretty obvious to everyone that he likes me. I've even heard other students comment on it.
I think a big part of it is also that he's made it pretty obvious that he's into me as well, so it's something that could actually happen if I chose to go for it. I wouldn't, since I'm not interested in losing my job and maybe going to jail, but I totally could. At the beginning of the year, it would have been a felony, since he was 15. At least if I did it now, it'd only be a misdemeanor. Not that I would.
It's weird to say about myself, but I am a pretty attractive lady. And I dress up nicely to help distinguish myself from the kids, since I'm not much older than some of them. I wear high heels every day and skirts most of the time. I've noticed a few boys actively checking me out when I walk down the hall or whatever. That's a little weird to think about.
I know that the rules are there for a reason, so I can't complain really. I slept with a 21-year-old when I was 16, and it was a huge mistake. I thought it was great at the time, but looking back, it was really manipulative and creepy on his part. I feel like I don't wanna be taking advantage of my position of power in terms of both being older and more experienced and also being his teacher.
If I knew 100% that I could trust him to keep his mouth shut, it probably would have happened by now. I mean, I'm sure nobody would believe him if he said anything, but it's still not worth the risk. I don't want a relationship with him either. I dated a 20-year-old last year, and I could really tell that she wasn't mature enough for the kind of relationship I wanted. I can't even imagine how annoying it would be to try to be with a high school student. I just think he's really hot.
I generally prefer women, but I will also date/sleep with guys if I find one I like."
"I'm a 21-year-old guy and I'm 6'3" with broad shoulders, a barrel-chest, and a chiseled jawline, and I hate everything about my body. I find the male figure to be absolutely revolting, but I desperately wish that I could have been born a girl. I always used to joke about being 'a lesbian trapped in a guy's body' back in high school, but after a while I realized it wasn't a joke.
I walk around in jeans and a T-shirt just about everyday, but I always wonder how 'girl me' would look in a breezy sun dress or some cute lingerie. I can't even manage to establish a relationship with a woman because I find myself so envious of how beautiful her body is and how I'm trapped in a body that makes me want to break every mirror I walk by. I like to act girly and say girly things, which makes most people assume I'm gay, but to be honest, I'd be a proud lesbian if it was my choice.
I don't even know how to explain it to myself, let alone my parents. I cry myself to sleep sometimes about how I feel like a freak and I just don't know what I'm supposed to do about my 'problem.' All my life, everyone has been convinced that I'm just a normal guy who is content with his life, but that's all a huge lie. I know it's not really a life-shattering secret, but it's something I've had on my chest for the longest time."
"It was a Friday, and on Fridays it is my turn to pick up my daughter from school. I got there and I waited outside the school. She was late, and that was normal. She usually was talking to some friends, or something. So, I waited. I didn't want to interrupt, not to mention traffic for leaving the school is terrible, so, waiting wasn't a big issue for me. I sent her a text telling her I was in the parking lot, and to come out when she is ready, she didn't respond and that was odd.
After 45 minutes, though, I started getting upset. Having me wait for 45 minutes is a bit ridiculous. I called her a few times, but she didn't answer. So, I decided to get out of my car and start looking for her. I was pretty peeved. I went around and it seemed no one was in the school anymore, except some teachers and janitors. I looked around the whole school, and I couldn't find her. I went to the principal's office and asked them to go on the speakers to tell my daughter I am waiting for her in the principal's office and to come immediately.
After about 10 minutes and her not turning up, I got a little worried. My insides were turning. I started to search for my daughter around the school: walking up and down the streets. I walked about five blocks away from the school and walking by the alley I saw someone on the floor, not moving. I turned my head to get a better look. My heart stopped. Running toward the body, I got a better view, and it was my daughter.
She was unconscious and barely breathing. Her pants and underwear were pulled down to her ankles, and there was blood all over her thighs and the floor. She had bruises on her arms, legs, and face. Her head was bleeding from where it seemed she got hit. I called the cops and an ambulance got there in about five minutes. The EMTs and paramedics were working on her and I was freaking out. They told me to stay back and they took her to the hospital. I called my wife and told her to meet me at the hospital; I would explain everything there. She got there, she was in tears, and the doctors came to confirm what we already knew: my daughter was assaulted.
A few hours later, I think it was a few hours, at that point I completely lost track of time. My daughter regained consciousness. When she woke-up, she was silent. She was looking into the distance and completely disconnected from reality. The cops came to ask questions and I stuck around to hear what she had to say. I wanted to know who did this. She said she didn't know who attacked her and said it hurt to speak so they left us alone. I knew she was lying. She was protecting who ever did this. I wanted to know who, and why. The cops filled out there reports, and let us go home.
My daughter wasn't the same. She was quiet and distant. She would always be a warm and friendly girl, and would talk your ear off if you gave her the opportunity, an indulgence I frequently let her cultivate. After a few weeks, her distance was effecting me greatly. Her friends would usually come over 3 times a week, and now the only one who came around was this 18 year old bro imbecile with a fauxhawk who seemed to only wear muscle shirts. They would hang out around the kitchen for a bit until I got home, then they would go up to the roof of the apartment.
After some time, I started asking her questions about the guy and what was going on. She was 16 and he was 18. This loser needed to ask me to date my daughter so I could formally reject him for her. She said she didn't like him, but I didn't believe her. I kept pressing the issue, but she kept quiet. On Saturday night, my wife and daughter would usually go shopping. I took this opportunity to go into her room, and read her diary. I found out the worst news possible: this bro was actually the guy who assaulted my daughter.
I was shocked that she was still hanging out with the guy. She wrote about some connection she had with him. I guess she wanted to be close to the guy she lost her 'innocence' to. I was furious. She said, in the diary, that he was sorry for what he did, and that he was feeling depressed. She wanted to comfort him. I didn't tell my wife or my daughter about what I had found out, and I still let him see my daughter. They still went up to the roof when I showed up. This went on for a few more weeks.
Saturday night, my daughter and wife were out shopping. Broseidon came over to see my daughter. When I answered the door, he said hello and asked me if my daughter was home. I told him she wasn't. I invited him into my house and started asking him questions. It turned out he lived in the apartment complex as well, a couple floors above mine. After our conversation I told him he could wait on the roof, I'd let my daughter know he was up there and to go see him. He complied.
After about 10 minutes, the rage filled back up in my heart. I went up to the roof and saw him up there. He turned around and saw me. He was a bit surprised. He seemed to have noticed the fury in my face because he began to look worried. I walked up to him and I told him, 'I know what you did to my daughter.' His eyes got watery and he said 'Sorry.' The fury raged inside me and I rushed him, grabbed him, and threw him off the roof. Afterwards, I quickly went down the stairs and back into my apartment.
The cops showed up 30 minutes later and started asking everyone questions. They asked me if I knew him and I told them I did, said he was a friend of my daughter's. When she got home they questioned her and she said he was very depressed. Eventually, they ruled it as a suicide. I haven't told anyone what I did."
"I used to hear voices. For years. It started when I'd walk into my room and say hello to my Lain [anime character] poster. I've always over-personified objects and, eventually, she started responding. Over time I could talk to her elsewhere, I'd pull her up when I was sitting in class or riding the bus, and I'd put on headphones so nobody would notice I was talking to myself since it was barely audible. Eventually, Lain told me she was a god and I was too, and there were two others, but they didn't really like me so they would almost never talk to me.
A long time later, maybe years, she started being really mean, and it turned out there was another voice who was just pretending to be Lain named Misery. This one was stereotypical. Everything I did was wrong and I had to pay for my actions, I should cut myself if I was ungraceful, everyone hated me, etc. Lain split again, and this time she was sisterly. When I was upset and crying myself to sleep I could feel her holding me and telling me everything would be alright. Misery looked different, but could look like Lain if she wanted to fool me (although she would turn back into herself when I called her out on it), and the two Lains all looked the same, so I could only tell who they were when they started responding to me.
After a while they all just disappeared. I guess I saned up because during the peak, it never occurred to me I was hearing voices. They truly were gods who were speaking to me and, later during the time period, I realized that I was hallucinating with delusions of grandeur. Then, at one point I realized that there was more of me and less of them, when I pulled them up it was a conscious effort and part of their responses were forced on my part. Then, eventually I just gave them up, they were so weak that it was really just like talking to myself and not to other people that lived in my head.
That's not my secret. I've mentioned it to a few very select people that I truly trust.
My secret is that I miss them. I miss them with with all my heart. Even Misery. They were friends and family. They were close to me. They understood me and they were always there for me. Now even with real friends and family, there's nobody that close. I can't just pull up someone to talk to when I'm lonely. I have to call up a real person and that person never knows what I want to talk about or what I'm hiding from them. They only know what I say.
Lain (the main one) would always call me on my crap and make me keep changing my answer until I told her the truth. Misery could always find my biggest weaknesses, which allowed me to work on strengthening them. Sisterly Lain could calm me down in a way that's unimaginable. You can't comprehend how good it feels to be hugged by someone inside of you.
And now I feel lonelier than I have in years because I almost never think of that time or remember how it felt, but tonight I'm sitting by myself at 2 am and all I can think about is how much I want a voice to talk to and it's been so long since I had one and I'd give anything to have another psychotic break so I could get back all my friends that live in my head.
I once had a psychiotic episode where I could talk to clouds and I could feel how much they loved me - the clouds, the trees, the birds. They were all my friends and they all loved me and they all wanted me to be happy. I had that feeling on mushrooms once. Everything in the world loved me. Every single thing - the house, the ceiling, the lamp, each blade of grass, it all loved me and it was the best feeling I have ever known. That was the best night of my life. I can't tell you how much I want to feel that again. I just have no way of tracking them down again.
Being crazy feels amazing, whether it's good or bad. Even the bad crazy where I'd stay awake all night because I knew something was going to get me in my sleep and I'd try to claw the evil out of my skin. Even that's preferable to being normal because the intensity is indescribable. I miss everything about being crazy. I miss it more than I can possibly describe."
"When I was 15, my parents were going through a divorce. My mom worked night shifts and my dad was living with a friend of his. One night, my sister, who was 19 at the time, came home pretty wasted from a party. She was acting goofy and fell on the couch next to me. She started grabbing my leg and laughing and we started fondling.
We ended up doing it right there. When we woke up the next day, she had no recollection of the night before so i just kept my mouth shut.
Fast forward to when I was 18. My sister is home from college and dad was over for a visit. They got into an argument and in a fit of rage, my dad announced that he had never forgiven her for the abortion she got when she was 19 and subsequently killing his grandchild. He's very religious.
I then realized the baby she aborted was in fact mine. As far as I know, I am the only one who knows since she has never mentioned that night."
"Back in the mid to late 1990's, I had a roommate who was from Amsterdam and we were really into smoking good bud, so one year we decided to take a trip there for a big weed event. While we were there, I met a lot of his relatives and friends. Some of these people were outright criminals, which is pretty common in the Netherlands. Several of his close friends were dealers selling a variety of items, including ecstasy.
One night, we felt like rolling so one of his friends came over with two huge bags full of pills and told us to grab a handful. So, we took a bunch that night and had plenty left over to take back home with us. Several friends back home offered to buy what we had left so we got rid of them.
Fast forward a few months and my roommate decided to go back home to Amsterdam for a holiday and I went with him. We saw the same guy again and I told him that we took some pills back with us and EVERYONE loved them and kept asking if they could get more. He replied, 'You know, we can get some there if you know people who want them.' Being the entrepreneur I am, we struck a deal and he gave us some pills to take back.
We made it back with no problems and the pills where gone in no time. His friend was impressed at how quick they went so they wanted to send more. We came up with ideas on how to get them here cost effectively and safely. We had some success with mailing them mixed in with large boxes of candy, but because we kept having to increase the number of shipments and number of pills in each shipment they eventually started getting busted so we switched methods a few times and finally realized the most effective (and cheapest) way to do it was to have mules fly them in the country. These mules were professionals and would stuff the pills in rubbers, dip them in a solution, and swallow them for the plane ride only to drink some solution upon arrival to a hotel to poop them out in a bucket. Another method involved getting a tailor to sew pills in a vest that was worn underneath a coat. This method worked quite well and was very cost efficient. One mule could carry about 8,000 pills, but it was more risky due to the random pat downs
Business was good. We were making a crap ton of cash and it was actually harder to get the cash out of the country than get the pills here. I was really low key about letting anyone know what we were doing, but my roommate loved to show off, which started causing problems between us. He was getting really messed up almost every night and it was causing a severe lack of judgment on his part. He loved the attention and eventually started hanging out with another crowd of people.
One of these guys (who had just gotten out of jail a few months before) got a call from some dude he knew who wanted a rather large quantity. He went to meet the guy and it was a set up. So, he got busted along with all of our supply and it was going to be a few weeks before we got anything else. So my roommate, in his delusional state, decided to fly back to Amsterdam to get bring some back himself. He actually was so strung out at that point, he decided to just duct tape a bag full to his inner thigh and fly back. If that weren't enough he thought it was a good idea to take a couple of pills for the flight and, needless to say, he got busted.
His friends back in Amsterdam were not too happy about the situation. They contacted me saying how his desire to be a big shot was putting the whole thing in jeopardy and wanted me to take over things. So we decided while he was in jail awaiting court hearing for a bond that I'd take over, but they would keep sending him a small amount to keep him satisfied, but he wasn’t to know that I was carrying on the business. I had a few friends in different cities whom I trusted, so we expanded and the business just kept getting bigger and bigger. Eventually I contacted another friend who had been living in another country partying for a few years. Let's call him 'Mike.' He happened to be very good friends with some guy whose dad was a major trafficker. He said everything was set up and as long as the quality was good, they would jump at the opportunity because X was hard to come by there.
So we set up a meeting and had a mule bring a vest full of pills there. While sitting with Mike at his buddy's dad's 'compound,' it finally hit me how large this had became. I mean, I was at a huge compound (which had a private zoo) with dozens of armed guards with the son of one of the most powerful traffickers in the hemisphere and if everything went well I would have more money than I ever imagined possible in my entire life. This was like some crap out of a movie!
They liked the pills and my friend’s buddy, who I’ll call 'Steve,' was going to talk to his dad the next day. We didn’t hear from Steve the next day or the following day. We decide to go to a different city about two hours away and I went to my Mike’s to pick him up and I found him there completely out of his freaking mind. He had been up all night eating ridiculous amounts of pills and had been wondering around the hotel with no shirt on, sweating his butt off and babbling to himself with a crazy look in his huge, dilated eyes. The hotel staff was concerned and I had to get him out of there before they called the police. He was so messed up that when we checked out and was walking out of his room the bell hop just handed me a huge freezer bag full of pills and said, 'You forgot these.' Needless to say, he got the best tip of his life.
I knew I couldn’t let the guys from Amsterdam see him like this, so I checked him into a different hotel, took the pills with me, and came up with an excuse as to why we couldn’t leave that day. Meanwhile, my roommate somehow got wind of the fact that we were all out of the country working on some deal and he was left in the dark. Of course he was beyond furious. All this started stressing me out, but what I didn’t realize was the real fun hadn’t even begun.
The following day my friend was finally starting to get back to a normal frame of mind and we went to catch a bus, with the pills on us, and just after we bought our tickets, we rounded the corner to get on the bus and saw military police searching everyone as they were boarding the bus. My friend and his girlfriend both said at the same time something to the effect of, 'Something isn’t right. This never happens.'
We were in a line and, if we turned around and walked out, it would look suspicious. So, I whispered to my friend to just follow my lead and act like he was taking care of me. So, I bent over and shoved my finger down my throat and make myself puke and make a loud violent noise so everyone could see I was sick. I immediately turned around and acted like I was about to throw up again and run back into the bus station holding my hand over my mouth like I was going to the bathroom. Instead, I jumped in the closest taxi and hauled my butt out of there. We took the most expensive taxi ride of my life to a city that was two hours away all the while discussing how messed up that situation was and how odd it was for the military to be there searching everyone. It was like they knew something.
We got to the town and tracked down one of the traffickers' cousins, who told us that when Steve went to talk to his dad about the opportunity, his dad flipped the heck out and did not want him involved in that line of business. He told us to watch our back because his dad wanted to see us. Steve’s dad was a very, very powerful guy and not someone you wanted to tick off unless you had a death wish. So Steve’s dad sent Steve away somewhere and we had no way whatsoever to contact him. We knew his dad was tied in with the police and factions of the military, so we concluded that the incident at the bus station was the work of Steve’s dad so now we were afraid for our lives. Plus, we were stuck with thousands upon thousands of pills and had no freaking clue what to do.
So we hid out and laid low for a couple of days trying to sell the pills to someone else. We couldn't get anything to pan out and it felt like some of these people were just trying to rob us, while others may have had connections with Steve’s dad and we didn't want him to find us. I get more paranoid with every passing minute and we switched hotels daily with the quality of the place getting worse and worse until we finally ended up literally staying in a brothel and every time I heard a woman scream, I immediately thought someone had found us.
I started feeling sick one afternoon and so did everyone else. I was so paranoid at that point, I thought we were all poisoned. So, I gathered enough strength to get out of bed, told Mike and the guys from Amsterdam I needed to get to a doctor, grabbed my bag, and took a taxi to the nearest airport. I took the first flight back home, saw a doctor the next day (ended up I had a bad case of food poisoning), and never spoke to any of those guys again.
I finished college and am now a successful business professional. I’m amazed at the lessons that period in my life taught me and how often those lessons come in handy in the business world. In retrospect, it was good that it ended the way it did because I would have surely ended up in jail or dead had I continued that lifestyle. Thankfully, I never went to jail or was even questioned, so there is nothing on my record. My roommate was not so lucky and I read a news article where he served three years in federal prison. I’ve never told this story to anyone, and even if I did they’d never believe me.
I've always thought it would make a good movie or even possibly a book. It is meant to be a cautionary tale of how a person who never in a million years thought they would get involved in something like this can get over their head quickly. It was very exciting. Probably the most exciting time of my life that I'd never want to do again."
"I still have 'imaginary friends.' I'm almost 30. I lost them for a while. I don't know why or how, but it they were gone. I couldn't see them or hear them any more, not the way I used to when I was younger. It made me was miserable. I kept hoping for a way to get them back.
Two weeks ago, I somehow managed to finally break through whatever the barrier was. I have spent the past two weeks hanging out with, and talking to, a character from a well-known TV show. The character in question is Castiel from Supernatural. Castiel still exists around in my head but is presently on sabbatical.
I can't really 'see' him visually, but I can see him with my mind's eye. He goes almost everywhere with me. He's sitting on my bed right now, waiting for me to get off my computer. I promised I would get off a little while ago, but I had to check online one last time. He's been coming to work with me every day for the past two weeks. I share my food with him. I kind of mentally duplicate it for him, since he can't touch it in reality.
I spend most of my time nowadays with my brother, Malcolm, who was on Star Trek: Enterprise. He's the best! But he's a private person so I'll respect that.
I also spend a decent amount of time with Will (from The Good Wife), who is our other brother, but only when he's not busy working on cases or spending time with Alicia. Yes, imaginary universes have legal systems and need lawyers, too. Will had a practice with Allen Shore for a while until Allen got appointed a judge. Now, he's partners with Romo Lampkin and a woman who was an role play character of mine briefly in college, Mary Aberfoyle. Aberfoyle/Gardner/Lampkin, or AGL. Definitely give them a call if you're in a multiverse legal entanglement, they'll take care of your needs!
I love it. I'm happy again. I realize most people would say he isn't real, but something about him is. I don't care. He's real to me. Even though I'm not schizophrenic or anything, I am paranoid. Knowing that detail isn't likely to crop up gives me a lot of comfort, but I still worry about it when discussing this publicly, no matter how unlikely it is.
It may sound strange, but I really wish I had a psychologist to talk to because I'd love to share it with someone. I know there are good psychologists out there and I would love to have one to talk to regularly. Unfortunately, I can't afford that sort of thing at this point in my life. Maybe in five years either we'll have more universal health care coverage, or I'll be making enough to afford it for myself.
I'm 'on the spectrum,' but I wouldn't say I suffer from it. I'm just a bit weird and different. I think it gives me an advantage in a lot of ways. I seem to be better than most at problem solving and critical thinking and tend to excel at work, though socially it's really hit-or-miss.
The biggest thing that causes suffering for me is the judgment from the outside world. I'm sure this is true for most people who are different. If we could all just walk around and be accepted for who we are -- and not feel the need to comment and pass judgment on people we don't actually know -- this planet would be such an amazing place."
"There was a girl who I had a crush on the moment I saw her on my college campus. She ended up dating an imbecile dude a few weeks later. I happened to end up sitting in a study room with him and a few mutual friends. He talked about how he didn't think she was that attractive and how he liked other girls.
I wrote the girl an anonymous email using one of those websites telling her about the things I heard and how the guy was a jerk. She ended up breaking up with him after she found out he was cheating.
The girl is now my girlfriend of five years. She has no idea. I've never told anyone this before."
"I run a cake business. I charge people hundreds for wedding cakes. People compliment my cakes all the time. Telling me how delicious they are. Telling me it's so much better than box mix cake. Telling me they could never bake a cake so delicious.
Every last one is made using Pilsbury cake mix I buy for $1 a box at Walmart.
I suck at baking. Every time I've ever tried to make a cake from scratch it sucked. But baking is, like, my whole deal. My friends all call me the cake girl. It's like my whole life is a lie. Well guess what? For $1, they too can make a cake just as delicious. Just add oil, eggs and water.
In my defense, I love cake decorating. I make all of the frostings and fondant from scratch. I just hate baking freaking cakes!! I base my prices mostly on the decoration of the cakes and not of the cake itself if that makes sense. Still.
No one knows about this except my husband. Even my best friends think I freaking slave over the oven mixing and baking these darn cakes. I have been doing this for YEARS. If anyone knew, my business and reputation would be in the toilet for sure. I keep telling myself I have to learn how to make the darn cakes without the box mixes, but I never do it. I feel like such a sham sometimes."