45 Of The Most Unsettling Secrets People Have Revealed About Themselves In This Online Thread

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’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.

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.

RIP

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.

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 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 put my dad out of his misery when he was on his death bed. I overdosed him with his painkillers and he died an hour later.

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.

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.

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.

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 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

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'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 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.

I have no will to live and I'm only still here so I don't upset my family and friends.

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.

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.

I take a shower with socks on ever so often.

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.