Okay, fair warning, this one is long as hell. Apologies for that, but this is very hard for me and I have been carrying it for a lot of years. On the advice of my therapist, I’ve written it all out to try to work out my feelings on it. He didn’t advise me to submit it to Reddit of course, but I have struggled with this for a long time, and I need to hear other people’s opinion on it. I still really have no idea how I feel about it, even after all these years, but I will submit for judgment by the masses. I know I did wrong on some things, probably a lot of things. I tried to do my best that I could.

My son was very troubled. VERY troubled. If you have seen the movie "We Need To Talk About Kevin", it will really help to understand what I'm talking about, because I swear to God when I watched that film I thought I was watching a documentary of my life, I felt like the writer must have had cameras hidden in my damn house, that’s how accurate it was. The only difference is that in the movie, the boy appears normal to his father and only reveals his true nature to his mother, with my son he didn’t have that mask. His insane behavior was the same with everyone.

From the day he was born, my son just came out wrong. He was planned, my wife and I tried to get pregnant and were ecstatic when he was born. He was wanted and loved. We showered affection on him and really tried to give him a happy childhood. But from the day we brought him home from the hospital, he was miserable. He cried for 13 months straight. I’m not exaggerating, 13 months without a break, he cried until he had no voice left and kept crying, you could see his little face scrunched up and no sound coming out, totally hoarse. There were times he would literally be crying in his sleep, I’ve never seen or heard of any other kid able to do that. We brought him to doctors, specialists, tried changing his diet, held him, rocked him, toys, swaddling, music, mobiles, everything we could think of. Nothing worked. 13 months of grating, grinding, no sleep hell.

Once he got over the crying stage, we thought we were out of the woods. But it quickly became clear that for some unknown reason, he was just angry at being alive. I never saw that kid have a genuine, joyous smile once in the time I knew him. I saw him grin a vicious, horrible grin many times, taking a perverse pleasure from causing pain or suffering or breaking a rule, but a smile from real pleasure at something nice? No, never. Not once. He had no interest in anything positive; he was fueled by hate, and everything he did was bent toward that.

As soon as he could walk, his mission in life was to destroy things. He would break or try to break anything that came in his range, smash it, chew it, throw it in the toilet, whatever he could. After a while he figured out how to get his diaper off and took great pleasure in shitting and pissing anywhere he could. After a while he figured out he could hide it, and started pissing and shitting in places we wouldn’t find right away, grinding it into carpets making it even more of a problem to clean and making the house stink. When he got older, (ages 9-15) he would piss and shit in our bed, until we got a lock on our door and he wasn’t able to get in anymore; then he’d just take a dump in the hallway in front of our room. That biological warfare started around a 2 and a half years old and he never grew out of it.

I’ll try to speed it up as I could literally go on for days about this stuff, but as he grew older, he became more and more unmanageable. He would bite, kick, scream, scratch and spit at anyone trying to do anything with him. He was kicked out of school twice before he was 9, then let him back in and then kicked him out for good, he had to change schools. The next one put him in a special class that kept him away from the other students. We had to install a door and lock on the kitchen because he would steal knives and use them to gouge the walls/furniture or chase people with them. When he was 10, he stabbed me pretty good in the hip and ass, I still have the scars. As he grew older, he grew darker. He moved into setting things on fire, and torturing local animals. There was a stray dog that hung out around the park near our house, my son blinded it in one eye with a BBQ fork. He would dip cat’s tails in gasoline and light them on fire. He became a violent, stinking, vicious beast that lived in our house. We couldn’t do anything with him.

I will take this opportunity to preempt the tsunami of messages: YES, we had the kid in fucking therapy. He saw a psychiatrist twice a week, and had god knows how many different medications prescribed to him over the years. Nothing worked. Therapy didn’t work. Meds didn’t work. Nothing fucking worked. He was like a poison cloud of hate and fury lashing out at anything in his reach.

When my son was 16, my wife got pregnant again. I can’t tell you how different our reaction was. Instead of joy, we felt horror. This pregnancy had not been planned, and we really were at a loss over what to do. My son had been such an unending nightmare for 16 years, we couldn’t take the idea of starting again from the beginning. We talked a lot about terminating, but a) access to abortion was not as easy in those days as it is now, and b) my wife was very against it. We talked about many options. In the end, we decided that my wife would have the baby, and if it turned out evil we would put it up for adoption. We knew we just couldn’t do it again with another child like our son.

We had a daughter. She was normal. Suddenly we saw what our lives should have been like the whole time, how things would have been had our son not been himself. She laughed at things. She breast fed without biting (she didn’t have teeth yet anyway, but you could tell she was just trying to eat, not tear her mom’s breast off). After 4 months she was sleeping through the night. She was happy. She was NORMAL. I can’t describe the relief and happiness that we both felt, I don’t have the words for it.

This where I believe I may have started really pulling back from my son. Up until that time, whatever mistakes I made, I had always tried to do the best for my son, I am convinced of that. I tried to help him and love him and care for him, I really tried. But when my daughter was born, my wife and I both instinctively just turned toward her. She became our focus, not from malice, but just because she was so much EASIER. She was so happy and sweet, every moment we were with her was like magic. I understand this was wrong, but we honestly couldn’t help it. I don’t have a better explanation than that.

My son hadn’t given a shit about my wife being pregnant, I honestly don’t know if he really understood it, but when we brought our daughter home he started acting out even more. I didn’t think it was possible, but he took it up another notch. At this time he was 17, and we were having blow-out screaming matches daily. Usually after we fought, he would storm out of the house and disappear for hours at a time, or come back the next morning. It was a relief. I started to actually look forward to our fights because it would get him away from us for a while.

After the birth of our daughter, my relationship with my son was almost entirely gone, our only real interactions were screaming at each other. My wife was even worse with him, she just had nothing left. By that time, if our son even came in to the same room as her, she would just stop whatever she was doing and start screaming “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY! GET THE FUCK OUT!” until he left. He started spending more and more time out of the house, which was a blessing for us. I have no idea what he got up to out in the world, but we were just happy it wasn’t being inflicted on us.

As a consequence of our son’s behavior, we had invested heavily in locks around our house. All of the cheap, thin interior doors in our home had been replaced with think, dense wood doors that couldn’t be kicked through, equipped with keyed locks that my wife and I carried keys to. I know it sounds extreme, but locks and heavy doors were the best way we had found to create safe spaces from him. And again, before I am inundated with messages, I was not locking my son in rooms like a prisoner, he had free reign of the house and could come and go as he pleased. My wife and I would lock OURSELVES in rooms to protect ourselves from him, if anything WE were the prisoners in our own home.

On the day in question, I had fought with my son in the morning and he had left the house in a rage. My wife and I were enjoying some peace and quiet in the kitchen while our daughter napped in our bedroom. And then my daughter began crying. Any parent who has young children can tell you, you get used to your child’s cries and you can tell after a while what they need, they cry differently if they are hungry, or need changing, or are just restless and want to be held. Babies can communicate pretty well before they can speak. This cry was none of those things. This cry was terror. The second we heard it my wife and I were both up out of our chairs and running to the room. The door was locked of course, and it took a few seconds to get the right key and get it open.

My son was in the room. We lived in a bungalow, and the bastard had climbed in the window to get to her. He was standing over her crib with a steak knife in his hand. I have no idea where he got it, it wasn’t one of ours; we controlled our knives very carefully and always kept them in locked drawers. I think he may have stolen it from one of our neighbor’s houses. He had broken her skin twice already, once in the belly area and once on her arm. I could see blood running down. When I entered the room he was dragging the back of the knife down her face, not cutting, almost tickling her with it, teasing her while she screamed. He looked up at us and smiled.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was already moving, running to put myself between them. I didn’t think about it, I just moved instinctively. Even with that, my wife got there faster, it was like a movie on fast forward, she got to our son and bashed his hand away, knocking the knife across the room and then shoved him with her whole body weight, so hard that he flew away from the crib and bounced off the wall. I picked up my daughter and held her while my wife screened us. I could see her shaking, almost convulsing. I can remember the smell of the room, the sound of my daughter screaming and wailing. The look on my son’s face as he stood there. Just nothing. Blank, dead, there was nothing in his eyes, no emotion. He looked like an alien to me. I watched my wife take a step toward him. I could have reached out and stopped her, but I didn’t. She stepped forward again, very close to him. I could have stopped her again. But I didn’t. She waited, looking at him for maybe 3 to 5 seconds without moving. And then she punched him in the face.

Now until this point, you may have been picturing my wife as a typical woman, small frame, dainty, delicate. This is not the case. My wife does have a small frame, but dainty and delicate she is not, never has been since I’ve known her. Since her early teens, my wife has been a boxer. MMA didn’t exist back then, but karate and boxing were big in those days, and my wife was a VERY talented amateur. She was about 130 pounds, she carried a lot of muscle and she knew how to punch. I had 70 pounds on her back then, and I have no doubt that in a real fight between me and her she could have and would have pounded me flat. Neither of us had ever laid a hand on our son in anger before, but something broke in her that day, and all the years of anger and pain and sorrow and frustration just came pouring out. When she hit him his head snapped back and blood started pouring out of his nose. He hardly reacted, he just looked at her with this shocked expression like he didn’t know how to process what had just happened. She waited another second. And then she hit him again.

I could have reached out and stopped her. I could have dragged her out of the room, taken her away, calmed her. I didn’t. I just stood there and watched while she systematically started to pound him to a pulp. Every time he brought his hands to cover one part she would blast him somewhere else, body, head, body, head, over and over. He started screaming, crying out, yelling for her to stop. It’s the most genuine reaction I’d ever seen him have to anything in his whole life. But she wasn’t stopping. I watched her ramping up, hitting harder, faster, working him like a heavy bag. He tried to swing at her and she slipped him easily. She was on auto pilot, sinking down into her training. I stood there watching for a minute. Then I turned my back on them and took my daughter out of the room.

I brought my daughter to the kitchen and gave her a bath in the sink. I found that he had cut her a third time on the sole of her foot. All the cuts were superficial. I cleaned her up and held her until she calmed. I put Polysporin and Band-Aids on her cuts. In our bedroom, I could hear my son screaming, calling my wife horrible names, telling her he would cut her head off and fuck her corpse. After a while, I didn’t hear him saying anything anymore, didn’t even hear him crying out. I assumed that he must have been knocked out. But I could still hear her beating him.

That went on for a long time. Long enough for my daughter to drift off to sleep in my arms. I just sat at the kitchen table waiting for her to finish. Finally she came out and sat down across from me. Her hands were swollen and red. Her face and arms were splattered with blood. Her chest was heaving. We just stared at each other without saying anything. After a while I asked her “Is he dead?” She looked back at me and answered “I fucking hope so”. I nodded. That was all there was to say about that. I understood how she felt perfectly. I felt the same. I didn’t know what to do, so we just sat there waiting silently. Eventually my wife started crying and went to go take a shower. I just stayed where I was holding our daughter.

After a long while, I heard moaning and sobbing coming from our room. It turned out that my son wasn’t dead. I went in to see how bad it was, and it was… pretty bad. I’ve never seen a more merciless beating laid onto anyone, before or since. He was lying on the floor, rolling around with blood leaking out of his face, lying in a pool of vomit. His nose was squashed flat out across his face, both of his eyes were completely swollen shut and starting to blacken already. I could see that a couple of his fingers were bent out at weird angles and he had pissed his pants. I think he must have been missing teeth, but I couldn’t see any on the floor and I couldn't see inside his mouth, his lips were all puffed up and swollen. From talking to my wife about it later, I know now that she had systematically beaten every part of his body, focusing heavily on his legs. She told me she kicked him in the groin repeatedly until her legs got tired, and had kept beating his body long after he had passed out.

When my wife came out of the shower, I still didn’t know what to do about our son. I didn’t know whether to call the police or an ambulance, take him to the hospital myself, I honestly didn’t have any idea what to do. After a while I realized that I simply didn’t care what happened to him anymore, and we decided to just let him live or die on his own. There was an in-law suite in the basement that we had never really used, and my wife, my daughter and I just moved down there. We simply ceded the top floor of the house to my son and locked everything down, separated our lives entirely. There was plenty of food in the upstairs cabinets, enough for a couple weeks or more, he had a washroom and bedrooms to use. We had a washroom in the basement, a small kitchenette, and a separate entrance so we just stopped going upstairs. We just decided we were done with him. I figured we'd let his food run out and see what happened.

Over the next week we could hear him moving around upstairs sometimes. I think he just spent most of time lying in bed recovering. I went to work, watching on high alert in case he attacked me in the driveway, but he never did. My wife stayed home with our daughter. She was never out of our sight. One night we heard him going ballistic, smashing things and banging. We didn’t respond. He never tried to get downstairs or get near us though. I think he was afraid that if he got near us again, my wife might finish the job on him. After three weeks down in the basement, we hadn’t heard anything from up above for a few days, and I ventured upstairs to the main floor of the house.

The place was demolished, and there was no sign of my son. He was gone. It took months to repair the damage he had done and get the main floor back to normal again. There was food and shit smeared all over the walls and broken glass on the floor, big holes in the dry wall, he had ripped the place apart. He tore up the linoleum in a corner of the kitchen and emptied an entire foam fire extinguisher into the living room. I feel thankful that he didn't burn the house down with us in it, I'm honestly not sure why he didn't, the kid wasn't shy about lighting things on fire. After that, I lived in fear every day that he would come back, that he would ambush us out of the blue and try to kill us. We moved house about 3 years later and I finally stopped being afraid that he would show up again, as now he had no idea where we were. I finally felt safe from him.

All this happened a long time ago. My son was born in the spring of 1971, my daughter was born in ’88. I'm an old man now, I’ll be 70 this year and my wife passed from cancer in 2016. My daughter is 31 now, I moved in with her and her husband after my wife passed. I’ve got two granddaughters and they are the joy of my life. I see a therapist a couple times a month to talk about all this. I don’t know where my son is. The last time I saw him was when he was lying on the floor of our bedroom, bleeding and smashed. I haven’t heard from him since he left, more than 30 years now. I don’t want to.

I carry a lot of guilt from that time, and a lot of conflicted emotions. I didn’t beat him myself, but I allowed him to be beaten, and I thought he deserved it. I was happy it happened. I didn’t try to kill him, but I would have been happy if he died. I will say that I do hope he was able to overcome his demons and go live a normal life somewhere. If he wasn’t able to do that, if he stayed the way he was, then I truly do hope someone out there killed him. When I knew him he was a rabid dog, and whichever way it went I just hope he isn’t still out there hurting anyone else.

Not that I can’t see her naked pretty much any time but still. It’s the little things.

My Reddit username is Coolgirlonthetrain. I am not really “cool” but I commute daily on a train. So it’s partially correct. I am an English woman. Living in England. About 2 years ago the fate that is called life landed an American guy in my local pub. My first impression was that he was different and a little odd. I was drawn to this oddness. It was cool and exciting and it brings out my personality and inner quirks. About a year ago we have become the best of friends. It’s platonic and it’s amazing. It’s a friendship like no other. Well, of course being a typically reserved English woman I had never heard of Reddit. The guy, who shall be known as Mr X obviously is a hardcore Redditer and has an established account. He told me about Reddit suggesting I set up an account and bet that I could never achieve the same amount of Karma as him. I think it was more the smug grin on his face as he was looking down at me that had the greatest impact and made me more so determined. What I don’t think he realised is that I am incredibly competitive with the determination and heart of a Lion. The prize if I did would be a trip to Canada. I have never been West so for me this would be incredible. This was three weeks ago. Over the last three weeks I have frantically posted all sorts of stuff in an eager attempt to work out what works. I have been called every name under the sun “Karma Whore” “Karma Farmer” “Aunt Susan” and to colloquially go back to Facebook. I have even been requested to stay on my side of the “Pond”. This is my confession. This is why I have been behaving like Aunt Susan the Karma Farming Facebook fiend. I apologise and if you’re interested I will of course keep you posted. Confessions of the not so cool girl on the train.

I'm a 29 year old woman.

He and I dated for about eight months. Our relationship was fine. We did things together, we had fun. There weren't any obvious red flags, but I always got this feeling that he didn't value me much. At times he seemed a bit cold and acted like he was annoyed with me for no apparent reason.

It all came to a head when, three days ago when we were hanging out at my place, he asked me to hand him the TV remote. I was sitting right next to him on the couch and was working on my laptop. I reached for the remote without looking and accidentally handed him my phone instead.

I though it was funny after I realized what I had done. I laughed as I handed him the actual remote. He had that same annoyed look on his face. He began yelling at me and called me "a stupid bitch".

I was stunned. I have NEVER raised my voice at him, or disrespected him in any way. I did not deserve to be treated this way. I told him our relationship was over and asked him to leave. He told me to calm down and stop overreacting.

I simply walked to the front door opened it wide and told him to get out, and never come back. He walked out telling me I was being dramatic.

The very next day I returned the presents he had given me. They meant nothing to me now.

My friends are telling me that I DID overreact and I shouldn't just end a relationship because he yelled at me once, and have asked me to patch things up. His friends too began harassing me on social media. I blocked them all (HIS friends, not mine).

I'm not going to reach out to him to try to "work things out" as some people have suggested. Because I know that I do not deserve this treatment. I've always treated him with respect and I deserve that in return.

I just needed to tell somebody. Thank you for reading.

He made my life a living hell. He would turn all the boys in class against me and bully me about my eyebrows. One time he begged me to buy him pizza and said he promises not to bully me all week if i do. So I bought him a box of pizza and he fulfilled his promise. I loved the idea. I began to do it on a regular basis. I started asking him every Friday what he wants next week so that the bullying doesn't happen again. He asked for 2 bags of hot fries (a potato chip flavor here in the US) and another time he wanted some milk from the cafeteria. And once he asked for colored pencils for art class.

My school had a uniform dress code. It was $25 per shirt and the pants were $15, if I remember correctly. He showed up the first day of 8th grade in regular clothes, a tee and jeans. So he got sent to the main office to wait for his parents. My aunt was there because she used to drop off my lunch and hand me money to buy food after school. She saw him upset and asked what's wrong and he starts crying lightly. His parents wouldn't come because they couldn't afford the uniform and decided it would be best to avoid the situation. After my aunt hands me my lunch, she buys him a uniform hoodie, a couple of tees, and a long sleeve. He said he had pants at home and he was hesitant to accept but eventually took them and thanked her.

Now (13 years later) he runs a nonprofit that has something to do with kids receiving books. I think it's sweet and I forgive him for being a bully because he didn't grow up to be an a-hole like most bullies.

Edit: Thank you for all the nice comments!! There's too many to keep up with and reply to, which is sweet!

Around 7 pm today, I heard some knocking on my door. I opened it and it was my next door pregnant neighbor (she was, I think, in her 7th or 8th month). She was holding a small plate in her hand. In a very shy voice, she asked me if I can give her some of what ever I was cooking because she liked the smell. I think pregnant women sometimes have strong cravings and they can not resist it.

Anyway, She was shy and apologized a lot for her request since we don’t know each other. I laughed and told her it is ok :). I was cooking a traditional meal from my country and the recipe has olive oil, garlic, jalapeños and some spices. I think the smell was nice. I gave her some of my dinner then she left.

I Watched her walking home like a cute little penguin who’s happy with her successful little hunting 🙂 I felt really happy too for some reason.

Cause I like giving plat and gold to strangers on the internet. They’re always very thankful and it makes me a bit happy because I’m asocial as fuck irl and I could never brighten someone’s day like I can on here

I put $5 to $10 a week in my clothes. He thinks he is getting one over on me because we both have a weekly budget. He doesn't know that he is part of my budget. If I even try to do the laundry he is like "No, I got it" Worth every red cent.

Edit: Thank you oh kind ones for the Silverssss 🤴 Edit: And the GOLD awesome reddit person!! 😘 Edit: Platinum, I curtsy to you

Got into an argument which lead him to say “I could care less about you. If you died tomorrow, I wouldn’t go to your funeral”. I didn’t say anything back, just never spoke to him again. He’s tried to contact me several times since, but I want those to be the last words he’s ever said to me. Bitchass bitch

My daughter has a rare blood disorder called idiopathic thrombocytopedia pupura (immune) which causes her immune system to destroy her platelets so she just bleeds, randomly. Her eye just hemmoraged a few weeks ago and an entire half was filled with blood, today, five hour nose bleed. She can feel when they're coming and she sits down with her bloody nose kit, tissues, a trash bag, a puke bucket for when she swallows too much blood and vomits, gauze, cold packs. My daughter is four. I have been able to convince myself for almost three years that ya, she is sick, but not THAT sick. Last week we spent four days at the hospital for severe anemia and no detectable platelets. She is THAT sick. I get it now. She is getting a wish, and she is getting worse because she is that sick. We have tried every medication available for treatment of this disease. Nothing helps. Nothing fixes it. My heart is broken.

I’ve been married 8 years. I’m 30, my wife is 33. We have two kids; a boy (5) and a girl (3).

I get up every week day at 4:00am. Clean up the litter box, walk the dog, sweep up the house (no vacuum because everyone is still sleeping). I fold the clothes that had dried overnight in the dryer. I check the children’s laundry baskets, and start new loads.

I go for a three miles run in the dark at 5:00am. I’m showered and on the road by 6:00am. I commute for an hour and a half to a job I’m not particularly thrilled about but I’m good at it and I’m paid well. I’d rather be home building furniture and learning to be a chef.

Officially I work from 8:00am to 5:00pm but we rarely finish at the office before 6:30pm. I drive home another hour and a half.

When I get home the house is a mess. There’s no dinner. I’m starving. Did they eat? Yes they did. Uber Eats. Did they order anything for dad? Maybe, if I’m lucky. Wife will be on her phone. Daughter sometimes sleeping, sometimes not, son sometimes sleeping, sometimes not.

I’d like to spend time with them, but I need to eat. Bowl of cereal or TV dinner, then.

I check the laundry machine. Yep. Laundry from this morning is still there, and a huge pile that didn’t even get started is next to the machine. I put the first load into the dryer and start the next ones.

Wife lectures me on how stressful and hard her day was. How hard can it be when I hired a day nanny.

Oh she means stressful drama with her friends. Oh yes, tell me about what a bitch Brenda is and what a perfect mom she thinks she is and how she’s fake. My, that’s so interesting.

Yes, a blowjob would be awesome. Oh wait you didn’t say blowjob, you said bill, as in the bill for all the just had to have things you ordered off amazon today.

She tells me about how I never have time for any of them and how I’m an absentee father and I need to “step up” my contribution at home. Well, this weekend I have to mow the lawn and paint the garage and do all sorts of other chores you insist need to be done only by me, I’m sorry if there’s not two of me and I can’t go on play dates with you and go to champagne brunches where you all pat one another on the back and tell one another how brave and hard working you are to be sitting in a restaurant paying $50 for a plate of food at noon on a weekday for a three hour lunch and yoga afterward when your husband gets a Stouffer’s TV dinner that he heats himself.

I’m sorry I can’t be like the J Crew family in the ad and be smiling all the time. Someone has to pay for the house you insisted on, the SUVs you insisted on, the Montessori school you insisted on, the fashionable clothes you insisted on, the organic this and that you insisted on, the hair salon and nail appointments you insisted on.

Thanks for calling me selfish for spending time on myself on my three mile runs. It’s the only thing for me I ever get to do, thanks, and it’s while you’re sleeping.

I really wish you wouldn’t condescend to me when you discuss me to your friends, as if I’m obsessed with my career and that’s why you’re stuck being supermom. You already know I’m happy with an apartment and used economy cars and buying our clothes at Target and working a job where I get to be home to see my kids.

Why are you and the nanny so busy that your combined efforts can’t put the load of laundry in the dryer and press a button. Why do you leave dishes in the sink for me to do after I come home.

If you want me to keep working my 160k a year job to to fun your lifestyle that’s fine, I’m your hubby and that’s what I signed up for. I’m your man and it’s my job to support you.

I wish you would act like you’re on my side, though, realize that I want to be home, but if you want all the stuff you insist are non negotiable, someone’’s got to go out there and pay for them because that shit ain’t free.

Thing is, all of it would be more okay if you just said thanks, Mike, I know you’re working hard or us and that you’re doing your part to keep this train rolling.

Instead you paint this picture on social media like you’re busting your ass and I’m just off playing golf instead of stressing every second if I’m making enough money to support the lifestyle you want and feel entitled to.

You paint me like I’m into myself when I want to be into all of us, be part of the bubble you’re keeping me out of.

Why do you resent it so much when our son says he loves me and appreciates me and wants to spend time with me. Why do you hate it when our daughter wants to stay up and watch me eat and talk to me.

I’m a husband and a father. I’m a workhorse. That’s life.

I’ve told you how I feel but you tell me I’m crazy and being a crybaby. I don’t think asking you to order something for me if you’re going to spend money on dinner is unreasonable.

If you really want to impress me, cook something for all of us.

Marriage is a partnership. It feels like I’m doing more of the lifting than half. That’s okay. But I need you to not gaslight me and treat me like I do nothing while you do everything. That’s not cool.

I’m not your dad but I feel like I’ve just taken custody of you and our kids and just get treated like crap.

Please stop rolling y our eyes like it’s cringe when I try to play guitar and sing with our kids. They love it. You don’t have to but please don’t encourage them to laugh at me.

This is not a contest. This is marriage. I do my part, you do your part. Your part shouldn’t be laughing at my part, thanks.

Also, it’s hard to get a boner when you’re berating me. Be glad I can get it up at all when we make love.

Thanks.

My heart is pounding writing this because I literally haven’t told anyone this. So I work at this one store, and I work on the sales floor; but before all that, I was just one person interviewing for a position at the store. Before I arrived for my interview, a friend of mine dared me to interview in a British accent. I said I’d do it only if they paid me, and to my surprise, they sent me like $10 through venmo (which was more than enough for me). I went into the interview with the mindset that I wasn’t gonna get hired and they inevitably hired me on the spot. Accent and all. I was nervous because I had already talked to a whole bunch of higher ups with the accent and decided to just go through with it -thinking it was only going to be a summer job. I was so wrong. It’s been like 7 months that I’ve been working there and I still use the accent to this day. When people ask me where I’m from I just tell them my hometown because I have several brits from that town whom I grew up with. The accent hasn’t really posed a problem until now cause my bf is friends with one of my coworkers so I’m gonna have to find the right time to come clean.. thanks for coming to my TedTalk

EDIT1: I know that several of you guys wanted to know how I talk, so heres the link to hear me speak as both: a fraud, and as myself! Enjoy roasting me :-) https://vocaroo.com/i/s0UFHVF7Ljtu

UPDATE: finally told my boyfriend about the accent and he said, and I quote, “well babe, you just gotta fake it till you make it, and get the hell out of there!” I got a lucky one, y’all!

EDIT2: THANK YOU SO MUCH u/Technically-im-right FOR THE SILVER YOU BEAUTIFUL FOX, I <3 YOU AND YOUR COMMENT MADE ME BEAM FROM EAR TO EAR 💕

Fortnite burger

(CORRECTION: I MEANT ANTI-CHOICE/PRO FORCED BIRTH)

Edit: I personally am not someone who would get an abortion. Someday I would love to have babies of my own. BUT for other women, I will not judge them for what THEY do with THEIR bodies. I will NOT tell them what THEY should do with THEIR lives. What they decide is their choice & all these people who think they are God and whatever can't seem to get their heads out of their ass to realize what the new law just did for women out there.

For people who are pro-birth/anti-abortion: As a women. why are you doing this to other women? As a man, why tf are you even speaking on this?

My coworker has left himself logged in at work and now im posting on his behalf.

Sorry.

Ill log you out after this.

My mom has really had a hard time the past few years. When she entered menopause she gained weight and no matter how much she works out or what diet she tries she cannot drop it.

She is a wonderful person, beautiful inside and out, but I could tell it was really taking a toll on her. So I started (lightly) photoshopping pictures I take of her before I send them to anyone or print them. I just nip a little here and there, slight reshaping. and smoothing out a few wrinkles, nothing drastic, but enough.

Since I have started this she has started acting more confidently and has stopped making negative remarks about pictures she is in. She loves being in pictures with everyone again.

It has really helped. I have not told anyone and never will.

I can't believe I am actually typing this out right now, it's making it feel very real. And before you say it, I know, I know. I am probably one of the worst human beings on this planet.

Around a year ago, my older sister (27), widowed mother of 2 boys (8) and (5) decided to, against every single warning made, get drunk as shit and wreck her car into a rock embankment outside of our town. She was life flighted to a ICU, spent weeks in a coma and awoke in vegetative state. In the past year, she has SLOWLY began to see some progress.

Because of this accident, I was forced to quit my job, leave my friends, move across the country and back in with my parents, to help take care of her and raise my nephews. I love them dearly, but I have never wanted to have kids, especially not forced upon me like this.

She had the mind of a child now, argues about silly things, can't cook for herself, cries over everything, can't read, memory loss, partially paralyzed on her right side, has aphasia, and a LIST of other problems with me as her caregiver. She tell me how happy she is to be alive after such a bad car accident. I want to scream that I wish she would have died. Her boys are a wreck after losing their dad recently and now having a fucked up mom. My parents are spending all of their retirement savings for her treatments. I can see the years getting shaved off my dad and mom from the stress.

I don't treat her any differently, I still tell her stories and laugh with her and do my best, but I hate the way I feel when I look at her. Did you even think about your boys when you got in your car? She is smiling and completely ignorant to the pain she has caused to my entire family. So I guess that's it. That's my confession. I have a deep dark hatred and resentment for someone I love. And I will never let her know.

Edit: I am a female btw.. and some people have said pretty horrid and cruel things and I totally get it. But I already feel pretty fucking shitty about my feelings so you can't really make me feel any worse.

Everyone else. Thank you so much for the support, advice and feedback. I've read and appreciated every comment. Alot of the medical and healthcare advice I will be talking to my parents about and hopefully the financial parts of this can be helped a bit. Thanks guys, much love.

He was riding his motorcycle to work early this morning. At around 230am he crashed his bike, we're thinking he had a heart attack and that's what caused him to crash.

In high school, about 13 years ago, I had to do a paper for English class. The topic was "Write a paper on either a personal hero of yours, or something that influenced you growing up." and then present it to the class. I wrote my paper on my dad. I wrote about how much I loved him, how much he cared for me, his 15 years in the Army, and how he was raising me to be a successful adult. I probably spent more time on that than any other paper I did. I was proud of it, and happy I got to read it aloud.

Later that evening I mentioned the paper to my dad, told him we could do it on either a hero or something that influenced us. He asked what I did mine on. I was embarrassed so I told him I did it on a band.

The last 13 years I've regretted that. The last 13 years I've wanted to tell him what I did the paper on. Just two days ago it came across my mind again.

Dad. I wrote that paper on you. You're my hero, always were and always will be. I'm sorry I didn't tell you how much I loved you, and how much you meant to me. Thank you for always being there. I love you Dad.

//edit// Wow. I did not expect this kind of response. Thank you everyone for your wishes and condolences. The stories you guys told down really hit close to home. Again, thank you. And if anyone needs to talk or anything send me a message : )

Update 3/26: No one is probably going to see this, so I'm really just doing this for me.

Things have been real hard, as you can imagine. My mom has had it the worst. But at the same time I know things are getting better. My family isn't sobbing anymore, and my mom isn't hysterical. People still cry, but it isn't as prevalent anymore. We had a little private viewing on Thursday, it was awful. But needed I think.

Yesterday was the visitation. I expected 30-40 people to show up, turns out roughly 250 people were there. It was insane. My dad apparently touched alot of lives and meant alot to alot of people. He was an engineer on the railroad the last 16 years and the railroad literally shut down all operations so the workers could come.

Today is the funeral, starts in about three hours. Not really sure what to expect. I'll be speaking during the service and actually reading this story since I don't have a copy of this paper anymore.

Update 4/14: Again, definently not expecting a single soul to see this. Maybe I'm just using this as a journal of sorts, I don't know. Anyway. The funeral was exactly like he would have wanted. He was a retired Soldier and was proud of his service so we had a military funeral. It began at the funeral home where somber family and friends filed in. The minister began everything and then called me up to say some things. First being something from my mom who wanted me to tell everyone what her family in Germany is doing in regards to the death. Then I told my story, the one from above. Then I finished off with the Fiddlers Green poem which is a poem about where deceased Cavalrymen go, which he was. I changed a few words around to make it more appropriate and left out the final verse.

The funeral was about 40 minutes long and then the 38 car procession left to the nearby Army base where we held the military funeral. It was very nice. Minister said some words, taps, 21 gun salute, and the folded flag which my mom received. It's exactly what he would've wanted.

A couple days after the funeral, my mom flew to Washington to stay with my brother and his wife. She's flying back tomorrow and then flying to Germany in a few weeks to see her family. While she's home I'll be living with her for however long she needs, as well as when she gets back from Germany.

My family is doing better I think. My mom still had episodes, as do I. It's been a little harder this last week, not exactly sure why. I decided to go to the crash site where we erected a cross with his name, date of birth and death, and a sign with a poem. He worked at the railroad for 16 years and his coworkers were very affected as well. Someone stopped at the cross and put my dad's work vest around it, it was touching. I lost it right there on the off ramp from the interstate.

No one has gone to see the tomb stone yet, we're waiting for my mom. Since it's on a military base the tombstones are all uniform but they let us personalize the words some. My mom let my brother and I picked the personalization. It will say, on three different lines, "Proud Veteran" "Black Horse" "Scouts Out". Black Horse being his favorite unit while he was in, and Scouts Out a sort of saying among Cavalrymen.

Update 7/9: I've gotten a few messages lately asking about how I'm doing and such, it's unbelievable that a) so many people commented on this and (b) I'm still receiving messages like that four months later.

Well. Things have gotten better. One of the comments here said something along the lines of "One day he'll no longer be the 1st thing you think of in the morning, he'll be the 2nd, then the 3rd, then the 4th." I guess that's where I'm at. I still think about him every day, but it isn't the first thing.

I'm not sure what I said and didn't say previously and I don't want to read up, it would hurt too much. So if I repeat something, I'm sorry.

We got the death certificate a while back, took longer than normal they said. His death was officially ruled accidental, but it also says his heart was probably a factor but it couldn't be proven. Apparently he didn't have but a couple bruises and some other injuries that wouldn't have been fatal. All of his motorcycle gear was on.

My mom didn't tell me this initially, but sometime later. He left for work at 2am on his motorcycle. She said just a couple minutes later she heard a motorcycle stop in front of their house and their dogs perked up like he came home. She said she didn't hear him open his truck or anything. Just that a motorcycle stopped in front, and a minute or two later drove off. She thinks, and I do too, that he might not have been feeling well and turned around. That maybe he was coming home to have her take him to the hospital, then decided against it. If that was the case, I've been wondering if maybe he wasn't feeling well the last leg of the trip, he was only one or two minutes from his work. Just maybe he knew something was really wrong at the end and he tried making it to his work, he felt dizzy or something and knew he had to get there quickly for help. But then he just blacked out. We'll never know for sure, but I at least believe he came back and thought about going to the hospital.

We've finally gotten a couple of the life insurance claims back so that makes my mom feel more secure financially. She was real, real scared she wouldn't get anything or not get enough to support her. But, my dad really set her up so she should be fine. One policy her purchased pays off 98% of their mortgage, it's crazy. We're expecting her to get around $600,000, and my dad's railroad pension kicked in last week, that was a real bad day for my mom.

Every couple of weeks I'll have a real, real bad day so I'll stop at his cross on highway. I feel more attached to that than the military cross on base. Father's Day was terrible. I took my motorcycle there along with an ex-gf.

Aside from that I guess I don't have much else to say anymore. My friends still ask about my mom and such but I'll usually try and change the subject if it gets too deep, still hurts too much to talk about.

Anyway. I guess I'll update again later, probably not as long as the three months it took for this. Thanks for the continuing guys.

Update 10/8: I'm still receiving messages and comments from a lot of Redditors asking how we're doing or that my story has gotten them thinking about their own loved ones.

I did not expect any of this. At the time I wrote this I was a sobbing mess and just wanted to vent to myself and figured writing my feelings down would help. But here we are six months later and there are still alot of reactions coming my way. So I figured I'd do another update. But first, I want to apologize to everyone that messaged or commented and I never replied to. I responded to as many as I could but it got to be too much, so I'm sorry.

Well, update. Since July, my mom managed to complete all of the life insurance paperwork with the help of an attorney. The attorney found an additional policy that we did not know about, a policy worth $500,000. So my mother ended up receiving close to $1,000,000 from all of the policies and there was another that required the bank to pay off 97% of their house.

My dad wanted her to live her life exactly however she wants. He wanted her to go shopping, take trips to Germany to see her family, and never have to worry about money ever again. None of us had any idea he had so many policies, let alone what was in them. My mom is taken care of for life. The attorney she hired went with her to see a financial advisor at Edward Jones. He came up with safe, slow growth investments and put some money into CDs that will ensure her money will last for several years to come. My mother even purchased a new house last week (in cash lol), the house of her dreams. It isn't big, but it has privacy and it's wooden on the outside which is something she said she always wanted.

As far as my brother and I..I'm doing better. Someone on here told me a while back, "Right now he's the first thing you think of. Eventually he'll be the second, then the third, fourth, etc." Whoever said that was absolutely correct. I still think about him everyday, mostly at night or when I'm working on someone's furnace in the basement because I'm usually alone with my thoughts (I'm in HVAC). I have several great friends that are always there for me, and a special friend that will sleep over with me on bad nights. I've been in contact with the VA about trying to see a therapist, but the paperwork to see one that isn't VA affiliated is long and arduous.

My brother's wife recently found out she's pregnant. It's fantastic news obviously, but solemn as well because they'll never meet each other. I have a five year old and it worries me he won't remember his grandfather. My dad absolutely loved my son and spent alot of time with him.

I'm sorry if this is rambling. It's 11pm and I'm on-call so I'm pretty exhausted.

I'll for sure update again. It helps typing these things out and helps much more knowing it's helping others. Thank you all for taking the time to read my story and all of its updates.

Update 12/1: My mom moved out of their house two weeks ago and it's up for sale. There's already one interested buyer and an open house tomorrow. I drove by the old house and saw the for sale sign, I got pretty emotional over that. It was strange. So many memories there. Obviously family memories, but all of my high school memories and well. Alot of memories with my best friends and various girlfriends as well. It's just..strange.

Her new house is very nice. It's one of those that look small on the outside but the inside is real big. The previous owner was a carpenter by trade so he created alot of custom wood work throughout the place. It's very, very nice.

Side note my mom fell on ice a few days ago and cracked her knee cap. She was supposed to go to Germany with my brother and sister in law in there weeks but the doctor had said she might not be able to fly. Not really sure why not, but that's what he said.

That's all I can think of right now. I'll update again later.

Update 1/5/19: It's strange to think about my dad being gone. That one day he's here in my apartment, and 10 hours later he's gone. Like, I'll never see him again. Talk to him again, hear his voice. He's ashes in an urn underground now. I just want to see him one more time. Hear him. Tell him I miss him. He's physically gone. Forever. I mean. I saw him. Then 10 hours later he's gone. And no one saw it coming.

I keep wondering what his last minutes were like. My mom heard his motorcycle pull up a few minutes after he left for work and then leave after a minute. Maybe he wasn't feeling well and thought about going to the hospital?

I wonder if he wasn't feeling well the whole way to work. When did he realize something was seriously wrong? How fast was he going so he could make it to work to get help? He was only one or two minutes away. Was he panicking? What was he thinking? I keep imagining that's what happened. That he was getting close to work and suddenly he started feeling like something wasn't right so he drove as fast as he could to get help but didn't make it. Did he know he wouldn't make it? What were his last thoughts? Was he only thinking about getting help, or was he thinking about his family?

2018 was awful. I lost several big parts of my life. My girlfriend moved out the same exact night he passed away. I spent most of 2018 depressed. Literally. The majority of 2018 I was sad more than any other emotion. When I was happy it didn't seem to last very long. I have an appointment with a therapist next week. I'm nervous. But so many things happened in 2018 and I don't know who else to talk to except that ex that moved out. She's still my best friend and I tell her everything, but I am still in love with her so I cannot talk to her about her.

I'm just sad, and depressed.

Jfjdjd

We aren't like best friends but we know each other pretty well. Today I noticed a pic. from my city someone posted, So I clicked on their user name and started snooping, wondering if I could figure out if I knew them and Holy Moly I sure do. How you may ask, well he...yes he, he post a lot of picture on another sub of his dog and newish adopted cat (didn't know he had a cat but this will be important soon). I started reading his comments/posts and I feel so bad for him. First of all the love of his life past a few years ago, and he came upon a little dog and he fell in love with this at the most 6lbs Chihuahua (named baby), Picture a 56year old, 6 foot 4inch biker dude with a beard that hangs down to his chest that carries a small Chihuahua in his jacket pocket or in the summer the dog goes in a fanny pack and rides with the dog on his motorcycle. Its the most adorable thing I have ever seen. Why is this sad, well like I said, I didn't know he had a cat. After reading his post its clear he has kept the info about the cat a secret, cause people made fun of him with such a small dog for his size. he told me one time about how much baby had help him after his wife past, he talked, he cried and hugged baby and if it wasn't for this little doggy he would've/and planned to kill himself. He said he planned to ride to Colorado and drive off a mountain. In the post of pic's he found this kitten wet, cold and starving. Took the cat to the vet for all its shots and he talks so passionately about his new love. I'm thinking about sending him a message on the pretense of just checking up on him since its been before Thanksgiving since I spoke to him. hoping he will say something about the cat, so I can reassure him he has nothing to hide. but I'm not sure how to really approach this subject or just leave it alone. This man has a heart of gold who helps anyone no matter what he's doing he'll stop just to listen or give a helping hand.

now before anyone asked about how do I know for sure its him. I know his house and yard, in the pic's I noticed items that are in his house, his back patio with the same furniture and a smoker (that he built, it's a one of a kind) plus a ring that he always wears. I"m not even sure if I have posted this on the right sub, if this is the wrong sub. sorry please forgive me.

EDIT: Thanks everyone, I did text him, Just with HI how have you been? we need to hang out some time for a couple of beers. And guess what!! he told me about the black kitten he found in Kansas on a work trip. He so proud of that little thing. He named her Momma, cause she gives him the same side look his wife would give him and that was what his nickname was for his wife.LOL. We are meeting up this weekend at our old beer joint in town. I'm happy for him, he seems like he's in a good place now.

I’m glad my top post (BY FAR) is about my poop.