People Are Revealing The Single Moment That Altered The Course of Their Entire Lives

My story happened just this morning. So this girl i like just moved in with my best friend. I was around there place last night and proceeded to get very very drunk, like monumentally drunk.

I was skating home at 5am in the rain and came off my board at this intersection, i was still holding a bottle of wine so when i fell i managed to smash it underneath me, so basically i'm grinding my elbows and knees along a wet road covered in broken glass.

Im in a bit of shock but not feeling too much pain yet, just extreme embarrassment as i look up and see a car full of tradie's on their way to work laughing at me. At this point i feel like scum of the earth; wet, bleeding, drunk, sad and now in a tonne of pain.

This isn't the worst part. I woke up at about 11am with my bed sheets adhered to my wounds by my own blood, i have the king of all hangovers, none of this 'oh fuck man i'm really hungover' shit. I mean the real deal, a big boy hangover, the kind of hangover your war hardened granddaddy talks about.

I realise i need to call my boss and tell him i'm not coming into work, so painstakingly i reach over to the bedside table to make the call but i'm fucking out of credit. Right. Ill just jump on the net and recharge online, only my laptop is in the lounge room.

Now i've never walked the Kakoda trail but i imagine it's walk in the park compared to the journey i undertook to my lounge room, to find my laptop out of battery. Right. Looks like ill just get my credit card and do it on my phone. I also really really, really need to take a shit.

This is where things get bad. Im sitting on the toilet naked, the most hungover man alive, holding my phone and credit card trying to recharge my shitty pre paid phone whilst taking a shit. I was on the toilet for about 20 minutes trying to do this but i keep fucking it up due to my vision being so blurry.

But finally there is success, i've recharged my phone and taken a really gross but satisfying dump. This me happy and my headache has eased off a little bit, until suddenly i manage to DROP MY FUCKING PHONE AND MY CREDIT CARD INTO THE TOILET, RIGHT ONTOP OF MY FRESHLY LAID PILE OF RED WINE SHIT.

Now comes the decision, do i reach in there and pick it up? or do i waste $40 unused phone credit, order a new credit card, and deal with my boss later. I decide i've got to do it, i've got to reach into a pile of my own shit.

Now when they fell into the toilet they kind of hit the angled part of the bowl and slid right under my shit and into the actual pipe. A tricky situation, i literally have to reach through my shit to get my hand down the pipe to collect my things.

After a few attempts i vomit fucking everywhere, all over the toilet, myself and the floor. The smell is so bad i just keep vomiting, i'm trying to get it in the toilet but every time i did this it would push my phone and credit card just a little further down the pipe, so i have no option but to keep vomiting on the floor.

I decide the smell is too much and just flush the toilet, fuck it, i cant keep vomiting on my feet and the idea of reaching through my own shit AND vomit damaged my soul a little bit.

So, here i am, naked, *really* hungover, bleeding, crying and covered in my own shit and vomit. I've basically just flushed $40 down the toilet (the phone wasn't worth anything) and i don't have a credit card to order a pizza online after i wash myself off. Not a good start to the day.

Oh yeah and i later find out my friend fucked her after i left. How does this change my life you may ask? I've decided to quit drinking.

Username: [deleted]

In the midst of rampant drug addiction, being a drug dealer/drug culture pedagogue, and an absolutely insane lifestyle in general, I knowingly took somewhere between 3-5 hits of pure liquid LSD along with a quarter ounce of very potent psilocybin mushrooms while on a full dose of lithium carbonate.

For those unfamiliar with drug interactions, lithium strengthens most trips about five-fold, and the particular combination of LSD and lithium has been known to cause extremely intense trips, seizures, long-term psychosis, and, in at least one case, death. I knew this at the time, but I was incredibly depressed, and wanted to escape the life I found myself in...permanently.

The trip started normally, but I pretty quickly realized that I was in for a rough ride. I started having little "glitches" that felt like my brain was rebooting itself in a split second; it started slowly, in waves, and started increasing in frequency over about ten minutes' time; after that, it turned into full on shocks, like someone had put electrodes on my brain and was torturing me.

The shocks became more and more frequent, and I told my trip partners that something was wrong. I popped a spare Seroquil in an attempt to kill the trip, but it didn't help.

With the shocks coming about every 30 seconds, I laid down to try and focus and minimize the pain, but the shocks kept coming more and more rapidly over the next few minutes until they became so rapid that it merged into one big, continuous shock; my vision went dark, I lost control of my body, and I blacked out.

I woke up with two of my friends holding my arms to the side of the bed, and another sitting on my chest stuffing a shoe into my mouth. There was blood all over my chest; I had bitten a chunk out of my tongue. She got down off me to reveal a police officer holding my feet to the foot of my bed.

I had an instant panic attack: there was a box below the bed I was laying on that contained my Hunter S. Thompson sized drug collection: multiple strains of pot totalling at least a few ounces, an unknown quantity of cocaine (less than an ounce), more acid and shrooms, and at least twenty pressed ecstasy pills (and probably a few more random drugs that I can't remember; I always had something...special).

Luckily my friends had the presence of mind to stash my box in my car as soon as shit hit the fan, else I would be in jail instead of typing this (THANK YOU Teddy, Miriam, John, John, Ashley, and anyone else who was in that room; my memory of that night is piecemeal at best but I know that I owe you my freedom, clean record, and anal virginity; I won't forget it).

I walked myself to the ambulence, and they injected me with some antipsychotic and I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning in the ICU, and felt a serene calm that I have only ever felt after coming out of a bad trip to realize that I was ok, safe, and still (mostly) sane.

It was probably partly due to the lingering antipsychotic, but I've had plenty of those; this was a much more familiar, natural feeling.

I sat there in that bed all day, about twelve hours, waiting for a doctor to release me, and that day I resolved to live a different life; nothing specific, just start over and try to do better, no matter what it took.

I went to inpatient rehab for a month (Thank you mom, dad, and Hazelden, and especially N, my group leader, for having faith in me!), and I've since started smoking weed again, but it's been almost exactly seven years and my life is on track: I've got a great job, a beautiful girlfriend, and I live just a few miles from the beach in a beautiful city.

Plenty of crazy shit has happened to me since then, way crazier and scarier than this story, but this experience and the sure knowledge that I survived and bounced back from it always kept me going, gave me faith in myself and the world, and helped me push through.

Username: Geodrago

In college a house I lived in with 4 roommates was set on fire on purpose by a grown man who was later labeled as a 35 year old man with the brain of a child. He was found to have a very low IQ and and to be mentally "slow".

This story has the potential to be really long but I will try to keep it short. The man set the house on fire with igniter fluid meant for our BBQ grill left on our porch at 2:30 in the morning.

One of my roommates was gone home for the weekend while the rest of us had been partying all day and night. So you could imagine that we were very intoxicated so not much would wake anybody up.

My room was one the first floor and the 2 roommates who were home were on the 2nd floor. At the end of this night before I went to bed I had gotten into a pretty intense argument with the girl I was talking to at the time. So I lay in bed thinking about that and I can't sleep.

Suddenly I hear a loud bang and I instantly rise and run to see what it was. I turn the corner into our dining room by our front door and see flames shooting every where. I instantly try to run up the stairs to alert my roommates.

The flames and heat were intense. The loud noise I heard was the big bay window breaking open from the flames on the porch and it happened to be a windy night so it was literally shooting flames up the stairs which happened to be right by the window.

I helplessly screamed as loud as I could for them to wake up and get out. I kept trying to get up those stairs but I couldn't. The fire was to intense. I then ran outside and called the police. After that I ran back in and kept screaming for them.

At this point the fire department and police pulled up and I told them where there rooms were. After about 5 minutes of watching what the fireman were doing I realized they couldn't get to them.

The fire was to intense. In this moment I was literally stunned. Everything around me was in slow motion. I realized two of my best friends died in this house and I couldn't help them.

That moment right there has shaped the rest of my life. At that time I was going nowhere and didn't have a prayer to graduate college. This was my turning point. I did end up graduating and have a good career in business. I no longer take my family and friends for granted. Especially life. It's short as it is so I fucking enjoy the hell out of it.

The toughest part about this hole thing was having to face my friends parents. To see them face to face and I was the one that survived and there kids died was so hard. My best friends mom grabbed me instantly when I saw her and was crying. She was just saying over and over about how happy she was I was okay and that it wasn't my fault.

I was later told by the fire department that if I had made it up those stairs I would have passed out from smoke inhalation within seconds and I too would have died.

It's crazy to think about all this and I do sometimes feel guilty. But I just tell myself I have to live my life for them as cliche as that sounds.

Username: Ryanpsu24

Certain kinds of people don’t like when I share this. You’ll figure out what kind. I am a male who has repeatedly being sexually harassed at work. The first time I was a teacher’s assistant helping the art teacher cleanup.

I spilled paints on my pants and she got on her knees to wipe it off my groin in front of q classroom full of children even though I kept telling her to stop.

I was 19 and she was in her 40s. I told this to my boss, my coworkers, my family, etc. They all said I was overreacting.

This woman was also a friend of my mom, so she kept getting invited to our house even though I kept telling my mom to stop.

Imagine coming home from school and seeing the person who groped you sitting in your living room. This went on for about a year until she moved away.

The second time it happened is the one nobody believes. A girl at a completely different job kept asking all of the men, including minors, to impregnate her. Those were her exact words. She was gross, so we all said no.

She then started telling us how she tried getting satan to impregnate her by masturbating during satanic rituals. I didn’t even need to anyone because she was already doing that.

I did tell the managers, who did nothing. I quit and she was fired three months after that for being late every day. I told my dad and he laughed.

Third time it happened, I was a waiter. A gay guy kept caressing my back or my chest. Eventually I lost it and threw every homophobic slur I could at him. I’m also gay but he didn’t know that. I made a conscious decision to be as toxic as I possibly could.

For the first time in my life, it worked. He didn’t mess with me after that. To my surprise, a bright red Republican approached me immediately after and asked if I was okay. Another guy did the same the next shift. None of the women said anything.

This is what creates toxic masculinity. Nobody stands up for men, and it’s the best tool we have to defend ourselves. I tried talking, I tried reporting, and I can’t hit anyone or I’ll go to jail. It is one of the many reasons I hate feminism.

Feminist don’t fight for equality, they fight for women. In every instance of these there were feminists present who never once stepped in or even cared, including feminists in my family.

When I start a new job, I tell them about the previous experiences and they say that real feminists don’t stand for sexism against male, yet when those same feminists see it, they do nothing.

The one person who ever helped was that one Republican I mentioned hates feminism even more than I do. I’m a gay Hispanic but feminism has never been on my side because of my gender. They discriminate based on gender. That’s feminist. Feminists are sexist as hell.

Username: youburyitidigitup

As lame as it sounds, I'd have to say 9/11. It happened while I was still relatively young and in school, so it's nothing like "I was in the towers" or "I knew someone there", but rather it was reacted to horribly by those around me, so I took the brunt of it.

My mother, since before I was born and to this day, has ran a home daycare. She works by herself with up to eight kids at a time, from 6:30AM to 4:30PM. 5 days a week.

When 9/11 happened, I was still in elementary school, and during this time since I was on the east coast all the schools were being evacuated. While High Schoolers, and some middle schoolers were explained whats going on in a calm fashion, elementary school kids were kept in the dark. To shield our eyes from what may scar us, I assume.

At the time, there were a few people who were suppose to pick me up. My mom, but this was on a week day. She had 8 kids in her house, and drove a Ford Taurus. She couldn't pack 8 kids in there and grab me, just like she couldn't leave them alone at the house.

Then, there was my father. He had taken work that forced him to commute 45 minutes. By the time he got there, in the traffic, almost an hour an a half would have passed. Everyone was confused, scared, and panicked. No one knew if schools would be targeted.

My moms best friend, Missy, was also contacted. She couldn't exactly pick me up though, as her child went to a different elementary school.

Other friends and family who were near by were in the same boat- They either had their own kids, weren't around or were simply too busy.

It was understandable at the time. That left one of the daycare parents. She had a kid who went to my school who was younger than me.

Well, she showed up to pick us up. She grabbed my hand and picked up her son and we practically ran to the car. I could barely keep footing. It was the first time in my life I saw an adult so full of unadulterated terror. And I was so, so scared.

I had no idea what was going on. Grown ups were so mature, so refined and knew what they were doing. Someone who knows what they're doing doesn't show that kind of primal fear.

Then, as we got to her van, I looked around. Parents, hugging and soothing their child. All of them were in a rush, they were scared, they didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what to do.

I wanted to be picked up and held like that. I looked over to the daycare parent, J, and she was buckling her son in. Kissing his forehead.

Telling him everything would be okay, not to worry. But why wasn't anyone telling me it would be okay? Because I was certainly worried.

She told me to get in the passenger seat, a seat I'd never sat in before. I was too small. I climbed in, she put on my seatbelt, and she drove. She flicked the radio on and turned it low. Her son was in the back seat and had put on his head phones to play a game.

He was comforted, and had nothing to worry about. I sat there, in the front seat, and heard things that I would have normally ignored. When you're young, and when you're scared, you listen. I heard them talk about the burning buildings.

The people who were dying. I heard a description of a man who leaped from the window to his death. She was talking to me about these things, as if I should understand them all. As if I wasn't some kid, but another adult.

All I was, though, was some kid. I didn't want to know about the towers. I didn't want to hear of the deaths. I didn't want to be told about them, and expected to listen because she wanted someone to talk to but her child was too young and I was the only one else there.

When we got to my house she ran me inside, and my mom hugged me. I wanted to ask her what was going on. What was happening. Why was mommy scared too?

I didn't get the chance though. J assured mommy she'd taken care of everything and that I was handling it. Like a big kid. My mom was so proud, and told me to go into the living room.

She didn't want me in my room where she couldn't see me. So I went into the living room and sat down, and stared at the TV where the live footage of 9/11 was being played.

I wasn't hugged and told it was alright. I wasn't explained, calmly, the situation at hand. I wasn't assured that everything would be fine. I was a child, and I was told to be a big kid. And, without my consent, I became a big kid.

Username: [deleted]

Wow, been on reddit for over a year and this post finally made me make an account. I've always been very smart, but I used to have incredible math skills, and an amazing memory (by no means photographic, but it was very easy to learn things by just reading over a textbook once).

By grade 10 I was already sure I wanted to do something math related, focusing more on physics / engineering, because those were the subjects I picked up fast, enjoyed, and excelled in.

When I was 16 I was skiing and somehow (not entirely sure, as I have no memory of the day, my brother was there and only saw a bit of it.) flipped over and smashed my head on a rail in a terrain park.

Apparently my ability to perform tasks was normal, as I could ski down the hill by myself, but my short term memory was completely gone.

When we met up with my dad and other siblings at the bottom of the hill, they immediately took me to the hospital because nothing was going into long-term memory.

I had no idea what the date was / where we were, and I would ask the three questions "where are we?", "what happened?" and "does mom know" repeatedly (my mom doesn't ski so she wasn't on the trip). Right after they answered that my mom knew, I would start with "where are we?" again.

We were at the hospital for hours, when suddenly something just snapped back into place, and my brain fixed itself and I could retain information.

Over the next many months I went through many physical and psychological evaluations, and it was determined through these (and through the fact that suddenly I was bombing science and math) that my IQ was not affected and my reasoning and verbal skills were still completely fine, but my memory, especially organisational memory, were hugely reduced.

Anything that isn't easily categorized into a group (so anything that I can't immediately associate with something else) is very difficult to remember, and my memory in general is far below average (whereas before both my IQ and memory were in the high 90th percentile).

Because of the injury, I had to decide on a completely different life course. Rather than going into something math or science related, I chose to pursue law school. I am currently 20 and in my second year of law school in the UK.

Because my memory is shit but my reasoning skills are unaffected, I do incredibly well on essays and assignments where I have the resources in front of me, and when I worked at a law firm over the summer I found it incredibly easy and straightforward.

But when it comes to exams (which in the UK, unlike North America, are not open book), I have a hard time achieving a passing grade, as the exams are mostly about memorizing loads of case names and regurgitating them on the exam.

Despite this, when it comes to actually doing law like it is done in a firm, with everything accessible in books / online, I am doing amazingly.

Username: Karian

I believe I am lucky. Not just lucky. But stupid lucky. Through out my school career, I was never one of the popular guys. I was never very physically fit. I'm not fat, but I do have a good sized belly.

I'm also not overly attractive. I don't think I'm bad looking, and I've never had self esteem issues. But I just wasn't the guy that girls went after.

Don't get me wrong. I had plenty of friends. Some guys, and some girls. I was in band through middle school and high school, and some in college before I dropped out.

That's where I made most of the friends I have. I was and am liked by everyone I know and knew. But I was always just average.

The biggest flaw I have, is that I was never out going. Sort of an introvert I guess. Not to the extreme to where I was afraid of people. But I never went to party's, and I never put myself out there.

I could never tell a girl I liked that I liked her. I was always to afraid. Most girls just looked at me as the trusted guy friend they could share all their problems with anyway. Not that I minded.

I loved being helpful. I never felt "friend zoned". Although, I did loose one of my best friends by trying to push our friendship past those boundaries.....I wish I could take it back.

But the one thing I always wanted was to find love. I wanted someone to care about me. I wanted someone to hold, and to pour all of my bottled up emotions into. But I could never find it.

I never really dated in high school. Had a couple of one weak flings. But they never went anywhere. I was interested in finding my one. I didn't care for the games that people played in school.

Eventually I stopped caring about finding someone. I resided myself to being alone.
Until one day...We were on out way back from our senior trip. Prom was next week. I had a date. But she bailed on me because she had something else to do (saw her at prom btw).

My best friends mom texted him while we were on the bus. She asked him if I still needed a date. Because a lady she worked with had a daughter from another school that wanted to go. I said "sure, I was going alone anyway".

So I got this girls number from my friends mom. I called her when I got home. She seemed nice. We talked for about an hour, and then said goodnight. For reasons I couldn't understand, my stomach had turned to butterflies.

I didn't know this girl, and I'm damn sure not one of those guys who thinks I have to marry a girl after saying hello once. But something was different. It just felt right. So with high hopes, I looked forward to prom night.

The day of prom went by slowly. I was so excited and nervous, I felt like there was a kickboxing match inside my chest. I went to the flower shop to pick up her corsage. Then I went home to put on my tux.

We were all supposed to meet at my friends house. The one who's mom set this all up. It was going to be him and his girl friend, and me and my date. I sat and waited in silence.

Not knowing who was going to walk through that door. Well, I heard a car pull up. My stomach exploded. I heard the door open. My heart was beating out of my chest.....then I looked up.

The person that stood before me took me by complete surprise. Allow me to be cliche. Simply put, she was the most beautiful girl I could have ever hoped for. I could not believe that I was supposed to take HER to prom.

The ride there was awkward as hell. We made small talk. Having my friend and his girl there was a blessing too. As they kept things moving.

At prom, things were a little better. We talked some more, and we danced. I know that my skin turned bright red when that slow song came on. What's that movie quote? I'm not sure what to do with my hands.

Well we got bored. Sorry to rain on anyone's parade. But prom is boring. So we decided to see the new wolverine origins movie. We pulled up to the theater and got out of the car. As we were waking to the door, she did something. Something that took me by surprise. She held my hand. She just grabbed it.

That's the exact moment my life changed. When my wife held my hand for the first time, I knew something was different. Something special happened to me. I came out of my shell that night. I no longer felt timid. I no longer felt average or awkward. I felt like a man.

So my wife was my blind date to prom. Kind of a fairy tale ending isn't it? She was also my first in every way. First kiss, and first "that other thing". We've been together for five years since may 19th.

So a couple of days ago. We got married last September. I can't tell you how grateful I am that she basically just fell into my life. I hope I get to stay with her for the rest of my life.

Username: Jacosion

OK, so imagine the following: You're 19, and you've tried passing A-Level courses twice and both attempts you've failed. All you have post-GCSE is a BTEC National Certificate in ICT, and even then, you only took it because "i like computers" and you don't really know what you want to do as a career.

Somehow, a local company sees you and employs you in your first real job. It's not amazing, and admittedly you can't remember a lot of what you learned at college, but you've a basic idea on what to do.

January 2009: You get made redundant. First thing in the morning, too. Pretty much the worst day of your life thus far. You spend the next 8 months looking for a job, but no matter how many times you apply, you don't get anything.

Not even a letter saying "Thank you for your application, you have been unsuccessful" (but that's a different rant for a different day, *mes amis*).

The qualifications you currently have aren't really top-quality (Didn't even get a C in GCSE English, which is the first thing employers look for), so hell; the only thing you can do is go back into education and improve what you have.

It's now August 2009. You recall back when you were at college, a friend was going to a different college in the same city, doing a course in music (He had dropped out, but I hear he's doing well). So you think "fuck it, why not"; you've had a good interest in music making yourself for a while now.. you've even made a few tracks on the side - granted, they're not amazing, but you want to get better at it.

By the skin of your teeth (and by that I mean, it was the final day for applications), you're enrolled on the "Digital Musician" course: you're learning how to use sequencers, using a recording desk, basically a "behind the scenes" guy in the music business.

It isn't really until the second year of the course when one of the assignments you have to do is to write the audio for a short film that has none when you realise "hold on, this is actually a lot of fun, I could see myself doing this in the future".

Then you think "shit, this is the last year of this course; what do I do next?" The course you've been studying is worth 3 A-Levels, so you should be able to apply for University now.

You're still not sure what the courses that various Universities offer, and admittedly, you don't want to stray too far from home. How lucky that the county town you always lived around has its own and actually a course that you could study.

So, that's my story so far: Age 17, had no real prospects or clue on what to do. But out of the darkness of something so life-changing, I found something that I could totally see myself doing in my later years.

If you had told me 5 years ago that I would studying at University, I would honestly have not believed you. But here I am, in my second year.

Music is still a hobby (and I still incorporate it into my work), but the audio side of things is definitely something I want to do as a career.

But, I'm only 23-going-24; I've still got the rest of my life ahead of me.

Username: neohylanmay

**My first rejection.** Once upon a time, there was a boy, named /u/Horntailflames . He was in sixth grade, and had his first ever crush on a girl. We shall call her Luder.

To him, she was more of an angel. He spent hours of his time making little arts and crafts thing for said girl, who in the end didn't give a flying fuck about. But I'll get to that later.

/u/Horntailflames 's direct competitor for this girl, whom we shall call Sir show off, was also making moves to get her attention. /u/Horntailflames bravely questioned Luder about her intentions with sir show off who replied saying that they were merely friends, and had no intentions of dating him.

Being the innocent and gullible boy he was, /u/Horntailflames believed Luder and thought nothing more of it.

But how wrong he was. How *wrong*. News started going around that Luder and sir show off had a fight, and we're not talking to each other.

This was fantastic news for /u/Horntailflames, but just to be sure he asked sir show off what was going in between them. He said he had abandoned his goal of courting Luder. This made /u/Horntailflames very exited indeed.

Fast forward to a week before the school trip, who was taking the students to an amusement park. /u/Hortailflames was exited to finally get to talk to and maybe even move slightly on with Luder.

Once they had reached, /u/Horntailflames had began searching for Luder and gound out that she was swimming in a pool somewhere. /u/Horntailflames, being very uncomfortable with his somewhat round body structure decided to walk around the park instead.

He tried again after about an hour. One of her friends said she did not want to see your hideous face, and should probably go before she hurls.

This came as a shock to /u/Horntailflames and he began to become depressed. Was it something someone had said? Something he had done? This made him sad and very angry

On the bus trip home, /u/Horntailflames had managed to price his heavy heart together, and ended up sitting behind sir show off and his wingman. As /u/Horntailflames had nothing to do, he eavesdropped.

To his dismay, sir show off was talking about how him and Luder had such a great time, along with how they were texting right now.

/u/Horntailflames 's heart felt like it had been shattered, run over with a steamroller and then hastily burnt. It took every fibre in his body to control himself from weeping profusely, and where his heart was filled with a pit of sorrow, he sat back, closed his eyes and sighed from the emotional hell he was suddenly placed in.

/u/Horntailflames had never, EVER, had any thoughts of a relationship since then. Whatever was left of the innocence he had after the incident was immidiately gotten rid of.

If he found someone attractive, he immediately shunned them away as a someone who may harm him and never thought of that person as more of a friend, if even that.

Username: Horntailflames

In 2016, I took an over-the-counter hairloss medication for just over one month. I was 20 and losing my hair rapidly. My girlfriend had just broken up with me because of it and my self-esteem was at an all-time low.

I knew that Minoxidil wasn't going to save my hair but I'd seen some encouraging posts online about beard hair growth and figured that this could be a way for me to recover my aesthetic somewhat: bald and bearded is a look that works for many guys.

My first mistake - other than taking the drug in the first place - was accidentally applying double the recommended dose. Because I thought that as a topical drug it could not possibly enter my bloodstream and go systematic, I applied two separate 1ml a day doses to my eyebrow area and beard/neck area.

For whatever reason, I seemed to absorb a lot of the Minoxidil and got crazy hair growth within a few weeks (something which the packet claims isn't even possible, but what can I say, it happened to me), however, I also got a lot of side effects, including a racing heart, breaking out into flop sweats, severe headaches and throbbing/shaking sensations throughout my body.

I Googled these and found some Reddit posts that said it wasn't a big deal, it was just my body adjusting to the drug and that all I needed to do was soldier on for a few more weeks and it would pass.

It did, sort of. Deciding to carry on because I didn't want to give up the hair gains, I kept taking Minoxidil at this dose for just over a month. But while the racing heart stuff got a bit better, around 3.5 weeks in I got hit with another batch of issues that were far more serious and distressing. At around this mark, my skin suddenly dramatically changed texture and appearance.

I developed a raft of new and deepened wrinkles around my eyes, as well as naso labial folds (which I had not had before in any form) and the entire texture of my skin just completely shifted: areas on my face and elsewhere that had previously been tight, hard and rubbery kind of liquified (it's very difficult to describe).

Picture a school stationary rubber turning into the texture of thin slime. My face and skin all over my body also became markedly looser and more bloated, with my face in particularly looking fat and prematurely aged. My pores enlarged. I thought this was just water retention but even after stopping Minoxidil this never went away. To cut a long story short: I got permanent disfigurement and skin damage from the drug.

Probably the best analogies I can give are to compare pictures of Justin Timberlake when young to now (see how his face has become bloated and puffy) and Wayne Rooney from young to now (I actually suspect that in Rooney's case some of the swelling and aging of his face may be due to excessive heavy Minoxidil use). That's essentially what happened to my face, that level of aging and damage, over a month of Minoxidil at age 20.

At that moment, my self-esteem, body satisfaction and dating and social life pretty much collapsed. But unbelievably, that wasn't even the end of my issues. At the same time as I developed this spontaneous skin damage and change in skin texture I also began experiencing problems with my muscles.

These had also developed a weird gooey texture seemingly courtesy of Minoxidil and in my lower abdominals I experienced paralysis, which like the skin issues turned out to be permanent.

In the seven years since this has slowly spread to different muscles all around my body and I am now partially disabled and being bounced around neurologists looking for a diagnosis. Pretty much everything has been ruled out and it is looking increasingly like I have motor neurone disease. I'm 28 years old now.

It is very difficult, of course, for me to prove that Minoxidil gave me MND, but I find it impossible to believe that it is just coincidence that my muscle issues began in the same one month window that I developed this serious damage from Minoxidil and changes to my skin and muscles.

While I probably have some genetic traits that made me susceptible to these things, there's no doubt in my mind that Minoxidil fired the gun.

It is difficult to really convey just how dramatically my bad experience with Minoxidil upended my life. Before Minox, I was someone who was widely expected to do very well - to find professional success, have a decent enough run of things with women, in short to be a 'winner'.

I was classically good-looking, a county-level athlete and a straight-A student and got a place to go to the UK equivalent of Harvard. Due to the disfiguring changes from Minox, my dating life tanked, and I became clinically depressed. The worsening disability that really came into its stride a few years later brought further struggles.

Now I'm a wreck: ugly as fuck and too devastated with my appearance to even look in mirrors, and so physically weak that I can barely chop vegetables or write with a pen. I got my degree in the end but have failed professionally, socially and romantically, working a shit job and not having even had so much as a smile from a woman in a decade.

Most of my peers are either uber-rich bankers and lawyers or celebrities. People who had more or less the same IQ levels and talent levels as me. I'm looking into fucking Dignitas and live in a pretty much constant maelstrom of pain and misery.

A promising and potentially happy life was snuffed out, all because I took and had a rare reaction to an over the counter drug seven years ago.

Username: FlexMissile99

Note: I respect all beliefs. What changed my way of how I was...

When I learned my family was in a cult and had put me through terrible rituals and had cursed me and others without their consent. Let me explain. I grew up in Utah.

And my family is Mormon. And they are highly involved. Like Thomas S Monson showing up at family funerals involved. I've seen Mitt Romney at arms length twice. I've met Thomas S Monson and other Apostles and high level LDS/Mormon officials.

I've been rushed through baptisms for the Dead and my own. I have been called out for my sexuality in sacrament meeting. I've been told to stay away from certain members because "I would be smoking cigarettes at age 20 and was gonna die". Well fuck you Mr Smith I actually smoked weed at 16 and hit a vape at 15.

Some fun facts about Mormonism. Not fun at all really but I'm gonna say em anyways. Women aren't allowed to hold priesthood authority or hold certain positions in the church, even today. Minorities couldn't either until 1971. Idk why they waited until star wars came out.

Guess we'll thank George Lucas for inspiring Mormon leaders idek man. You can't date til you're 16 and you can only date Mormons(technically). You can't be married in their temples if it isn't a strictly heterosexual relationship. They used to do masonic blood rituals until the 80s.

The founders of the church were p3d0ph!les, yeah I said it so come at me with all the fske evidence and "well God gave joseph smith permission to marry multiple girls recorded to be as young as 14 even though his first wife was against it" all you want, it'll just show your morals.

Also, Mormons aren't bad people, bad Mormons are. Just like how Pitbulls are dangerous pets, only the bad ones are truly bad. Also, Joseph Smith designated himself as "King", so Mormons are going to his universe after they die? Idk it's a shitton of grey area there.

There are also pentagrams on the outside of their temples and their founders were Masons(nothing against Masons, just confuses me when Mormons have Masonic literature/rituals but say they're Christian). I'm not particularly religious and don't hate religions but it's odd that one would ever condone ritualistic practice, polygamy and a false Bible, then call themselves Christian.

Anywho, my Grandparents did a lot of "temple work", which is aka rituals to ensure they would be Gods after they died. Fuck that. You're signing up for the fires of hell. If any true God exists, this is all a mockery of his gospels.

Anyways, I said fuck that church and they sent me to RedCliff Ascent Wilderness Therapy for 111 days. Most kids stayed for 60 and it costs 15k a month. Idgaf man. I'm personally opposed to anything that restricts a person's choice at any age.

By the wise words of Seuss "A person's a person, no matter how small". That wasn't a quote given to state any opinion on abortion. Note: women should be able to do whatever TF they want, idc if they wanna unicorn horn on their knees.

If shit doesn't hurt me, it doesn't bother me. But there's a reason Utah has one of the worst drug problems and highest suicide rates in the country.

Abusive Mormon social complexes that literally control everyone, even if you're not a Mormon. You can't even buy the same fucking beer in Utah. Cheers yall

Username: shvd0w

We were best friends of 7 years. I was 19 when I met her, she was 15. At the time, I never would consider her as a potential girlfriend because she was a kid in high school. I was in college.

She gave me hints she liked me but she had a boyfriend and again, I wouldn't consider it because of our ages and the age gap at the time. Years went by, we became much closer.

She came to rely on me and I was actually a huge part of helping her through her insomnia and anorexia issues. I made she would go to bed early and ate dinner before hand every night.

*Every. Night.* When she got into her 20's, I realized I actually started developing feelings for her, but she had boyfriends and I just respected it (though I joked that eventually she would get to me).

Well, it came to the point where she was 23 and I was 26. She was single, and she was depressed because she broke up with another boyfriend. I dunno what compelled me to do it at that moment, but I told her I loved her.

Her reaction was "I don't understand. *Why* do you love me?" She just couldn't accept it and tried to make me feel dumb for having the notion. We stopped talking for at least 6 months (can't remember the time frame).

At this point, she had gone through a bunch of shit in her life and she realized how much she missed me. She apologized to me out of no where in a desperate plea to get my attention.

I was dumb and took her back after she pleaded with me why she needed me, but I told her we needed to address why I stopped talking to her: the "I love you."

She told me that when she heard it, she was too scared because she always had feelings for me and she always wanted to be my girlfriend, but the **honest truth was she always loved me too.** There was no miscommunication about it: We both knew we didn't mean as friends, we were talking about actual love.

For the first time in my life, I told a girl I loved her and she told me the same back. For a moment, I was on cloud nine.

And then the bitch told me there's this dude in one of her classes she wants to fuck and she wanted my advice on how to bag him....wut?

My mind shattered. I literally couldn't process what just happened for a good portion of that weekend beyond just getting the fuck away from her. And then I realized: I was her safety blanket. Her backup. Her last choice.

And I will never accept that. I'm worth too much to ever even be joked at for that role. I'm the man. I'm the God damn man. I'm the man who can make a woman feel confident enough to take a bite of her favorite food and remember tomorrow is worth running to.

I'm the man who can remind a woman who feels she's worth nothing what she really is: A fucking inspiration to every one of my breath's. I'm the man who can make everything ok when everything else is falling apart.

I'm the man, and I'm looking for the woman who deserves to hear "I love you" from me again. That was my moment. Not letting heartbreak defeat me, but making heartbreak ensure that the next person who hears "I love you" is going to damn well deserve it. Be patient, wifey. Your man's coming.

Username: [deleted]

Once I popped, I couldn't stop. Once I finally stopped, I couldn't stay stopped. This was my alcoholism & drug addiction. I started smoking pot at a young age, 10 years old. The first 10 years were fun, lots of partying, lots of "being cool" the most gangster white guy you ever met out of the suburbs *cringe*.

When I was loaded I was the life of the party, could talk to any woman, do anything.. But I noticed I drank more than everyone else, I did more than anyone else, and my nights were longer than anyone else. N

o one could keep up with me, for a while I wore it as a badge of honor. At 20 years old my best friend got murdered, it was a huge news story. A basketball player for Baylor, it shattered me. After years, I finally thought I had justification to drown myself in a bitter tasting pool of tears and substance.

For six years came my decline, I dug deeper into a dark hole, feeling the weight of my perceived world collapse and press down upon my already frail body. I went deeper; soon nothing mattered, not my family, not the women I so diligently chased, not anyone. I alienated myself to the point of no return. My delusion kept me thinking there wasn't a problem, that everyone else was a problem.

Every time I turned a corner my next corner would be my salvation. Like a maze in which there was no end, though I thought there was. I knew there was. My gun, yes that would remove me from the world and then everyone would see and then everyone would feel sorry for me.

I had it in my mouth, that taste of gun metal, I still taste it now as I write this. Warm tears streaming down my face I held it in place, my teeth chattering as I shivered in anticipation. My sweaty hands gripping the handle with my thumb firmly encircled around the trigger. I waited, I said a prayer... I couldn't do it. I dropped the gun, sobbing the whole time.

Many a night after that I clutched at my blanket in the corner of my dark bedroom, nothing but the glow of the television to show any sign of activity. The pale glow as I sat and shivered and shook trying to get well, trying to survive another detox. I kept going back.

It was madness, insanity, every time I thought I had made it over the hill to safety, my sick brain told me again this time would be different. Don't do as much, don't take this drug, take that drug; but in the end, I always ended up back to where I started but worse.

One night, I stood in the bathroom of my parent's house, prepping another journey into the numbing mind state which can only be traveled by course of vein. I looked up in the mirror and for once in my life, saw what everyone else saw, a shell of a man. Dying from within.

Physically broken down, pale to an almost translucence against the soft glow of the bathroom light. My beard, the smell of lack of hygiene entered my nostrils. I breathed in and said to myself "I need help".

With help from family members I embarked into a journey, that night changed me. I sought professional help and journeyed into a new life style. A sober one, with promises made by others that I wouldn't have my old life back, but a newer far greater one. They didn't lie. That was about four and a half years ago.

Today I have my own place which I pay for. My own car, a beautiful girlfriend and a white small fluffy dog who I love to pieces. I was always the 'pitbull' type I thought, how wrong I was. I have a career now, working as a server administrator for a medical foundation.

I run a business on the side and spend my free time helping others around me who have suffered as I have or much worse. I seek pleasure in helping others and seeing people get better.

I pay my taxes, bills, have erased my debt and take care of all the items on my to do list. I am accountable today, no lies about where I am or where I need people to think I am. I live in Southern California, my best friend is a musician and I get to travel with him to various shows and meet wonderful people. Some of my biggest joys come from people watching and interacting, feeling connected.. Feeling alive.

From a family riddled by alcoholism and enablers, I have shed my skin of being the black sheep of the family, now everyone seeks my advice and looks up to me. My sister, who five years ago stated she wanted me to die and leave our family alone, now lives with me because she can't take the hardships that my brother and mother's substance abuse has caused her.

I am alive today, happy and grateful beyond my wildest dreams. I will close with this; growing up I never felt comfortable in my own skin, I never thought my life had a purpose, I predicted my death at twenty six years old.

People at parties used to ask me "dfoolio, how can you stand to drink and use so much? Aren't you worried about death?" I used to respond "No, I will be dead at twenty six anyway".

I don't know where that number came to my head from, but I abused my body with substance as if that was the day I was to check out, or maybe I did check out? The old me died at twenty six and a half years old. I learned to live again as a productive member of society.

Oh yeah, and that life purpose that I thought I never had? I found one. It's to help other human beings, be there for those who need help. If someone hadn't done it for me, I wouldn't be here to tell this story today..

Username: dfoolio

I was in the hospital to get my colon removed because I had a disease called ulcerative colitis that was unable to be controlled by heavy regiments of medicine, remikad, and the steroids. I bleed enough over the course of three months that I had to get around 27 units of blood.

But this is not the single event that changed my life no it came after the initial surgery when the doctors realized that had I been an older or less strong person I would not have survived the surgery but also that I would not have made it over the next few months despite how healthy I was going into the surgeries.

The doctors did what they could but they wanted to monitor me for a little longer just to be sure. Two days before I was to be released, to recover for a while with a colectomy bag, I started to vomit non-stop and feel an insane levels of pain.

All of the sudden I had all sorts of hellish liquid pour out of my scar that spans from just above my genitals to just above my lower pecs and then my colectomy hole opened and more shit, acid and blood began pouring out.

Imagine just laying there in bed and then all of this happening before your eyes that horror of seeing the staples holding your stomach together begin to pop out and your stomach begin to split open. Needless to say I have had many sleepless nights following this but my story is not over.

I cannot emphasis how much I love and respect nurses for what they did for me throughout my stay in the hospital (52 days for this time but that year around 74 in total) but that night all nurses won the medal of honor from me.

They came in and quickly did everything that they could and got me clean and together and got me as quickly as they could to the operation room. I can't recall exactly everything they did because I was given pain meds and my brain was a little overwhelmed but I do remember that I couldn't have dealt with that situation without them being there.

I was quickly put under a heavy drug induced coma which led to me losing about 6 days of my life completely to the void of nothingness with brief periods of awareness before I was put under again (there is another freaky anestisa story there but I feel like this is too long already). My family and doctors did tell me what I went through when I was feeling a little better.

I went through an additional 6 surgeries where two of the doctors broke down in tears in between (one of the doctors was my best friend since elementary schools Mom and the other one was a fairly young doctor under the big boss and I was her first real insane case) and at one point one doctor (while trying to be encouraging) told my parents that they had seen people survive when they were that bad (later we learned that there arn't many people who do though).

What had happened was that my intestine walls had torn apart because they were so weak because of the massive amount of medicine I had to take trying to deal with my disease. I had built up a large amount of coagulated blood in my stomach (I forget what this is called but it apparently does not usually turn out well) that had to be removed.

At the same time I was losing blood so rapidly that the doctors had to literally force blood into to keep up with my blood loss. For the doctors it was a grueling endeavor to simply keep me alive but somehow they did.

Following this I spent (as I said earlier) 52 days in the hospital getting examined by all sorts of doctors (some would just check on me out of curiosity while seeing other patients). I got in total 48 units of blood which is the equivalent to around four humans worth of blood. I still have a colectomy bag and I am prepping for a further 3 surgeries that I will undergo this upcoming summer.

This all happened to me when I was 19 years old but I did turn 20 in the hospital. My experiences with all of that and all of the stuff that filled my life for my remaining time in the hospital recovering and fighting would take up many more paragraphs worth of stories but to make a long story short I had to take diluadid every 2 hours, didn't eat for around 24 days, and had more needles and tubes shoved in me then I would ever want around me in my entire life.

I am an US citizen so I was blessed that my parents were well off enough to be able to afford top line health insurance that got the appropriate means in place to save my life. I don't know what would have happen if I was in England or if I didn't have health insurance but my life would have been in the hands of the queue or in human mercy (o god neither of those is a good choice). [not trying to be political in any way just an observation I have had]

I was an old soul going into the hospital but I came out a changed man in some ways a better man but in others I have gotten weaker (like drive and self-confidence).

Btw b4 this experience I had been in the hospital only to see my baby siblings and I had only gotten a small cold or fever every few years but for the most part I was an extremely healthy individual who just crashed in an almost unheard of way. Being sick was not something I was used to.

Username: Hproff25

Last year I was heading back to my house from a friend's birthday party when there was a head on collision right in front of me. I was two cars behind the accident, and I almost wrecked myself trying to stop in time.

The posted speed limit was 35 on that street, but when it's a head on collision the forces are pretty much doubled, so it's like hitting a brick wall going 70.

I get out of my car, pop the trunk, and get my crowbar from the back. I've always had a spare crowbar in case I need to do some work on my car out on the middle of nowhere, and leverage is a good thing. So I spent out to the nearest car, which is a 1980's ish Mitsubishi pick up truck.

The thing looked unrecognizable. I ran up to where I thought the drivers side door was and began prying the metal, I could see someone trapped inside. It took everything I had to get the door enough open to put a couple of hands in the cabin.

By some stupid stroke of luck there was an off duty EMT nurse that was driving behind me, she walked up and helped me get more of the door open.

Inside the steering wheel had pushed the driver up on the roof, and he was sort of trapped there, and his leg was in a seriously bad way. The nurse, Ellie, if I remember, instructed me to hold this guys neck up, so he could breathe better, so I did.

So, here I am, freaked the fuck out, adrenaline pumping, holding this guys he's up. He started coughing up blood and then he stopped breathing. And he didn't breathe for a while. I didn't really know what to do. This guy had stopped breathing in my hands and I didn't know what to do.

I'm trying to find Ellie but she's helping out the other car, which I couldn't really see. The fire department comes, and this one firefighter sees what I'm doing and asks if he's breathing, I say no. And then the paramedics walk up to me and take over, relieving me of my task.

I go to Ellie, since she's the only one I can form sentences to right now, to help with the other car. It was a white minivan full of black children, the mother, I think, was trapped in her seat and couldn't feel her legs, and all the kids were crying. Two of whom were not moving. But other paramedics get to the car and ask me to step away. And so I did.

I sat on the curb watching the firefighters use this huge metal claw to get the guy in the pickup truck out, and then the parameters try to revive him while they're getting him into the ambulance.

I stop shaking so much and decide to leave. I go back to my car and drive away through an alley, and then I realize I'm covered in blood, and just start crying.

I don't know if that guy survived, I don't know if those kids in the van were okay, I just did what I could with what I had at the time. And the strangest thing was there were people watching.

They weren't helping, they were just watching. Why the fuck would you just watch shit like this and not help?

The experience put a lot of things into perspective. A lot of shit doesn't really bother me that much, doing punishments for being late to a practice, highschool drama, people's little problems.

And I sometimes wonder, how many people that I trust would just sit, and watch as I bleed out or something like that?

Username: Cheekywheeshite

When I took E with a friend. I am not endorsing to take E to make your life better. From what I've looked into most people get depressed for a bit after. Don't know if it is true though.

It didn't happen all at once either. Everything just seemed so insignificant after. I dumped out my booze, and with it a blossoming alcoholism, and threw out the junk food in my house. Bought some gym equipment and started lifting and jogging. Found another job.

In two years I went from a job that consumed my life and I hated but was scared to leave and entertaining slivers of thoughts of suicide to someone who isn't exactly happy (but not unhappy either) but is content. Don't know how to put the feeling into words.

Still trying to figure out the thought process but as far as I reckon I had figured that I just experienced the pinnacle of feeling good. Everything made sense and lined up and was just fine in those drugged hours. It was the first time I could recall in my life that I was totally and completely happy.

And then it was gone. But I remembered it and it made me realise how petty and little comforts and escapes are.

The idea of getting drunk to blunt feeling like shit seemed silly. I had just experienced the best I could feel and to what could alcohol compare to that? A little melancholic buzz?

So I dumped out my booze. Same with food. I won't go so far as to say it turned to ash on my lips but it certainly wasn't what it was before; it was fuel not fun. So I threw out the ice cream and other 'comfort' food. Because it meant nothing.

I wanted to go out and do stuff and there wasn't time to do things I wasn't wholly interested in so I abandoned the half hearted pursuits.

The only thing I can liken it to is climbing a mountain and then wondering why you used to climb dirt hills to make yourself feel good.

I haven't taken E again either. Don't know if what I got was even MDMA but I don't really care to be honest. The idea of needing to artificially induce pleasure has since struck me as abhorrent, hypocritical though it may be.

In retrospect I wonder if this change was created not from the actual high but from the 'come up'. It may or may not vary person to person but the best description I had for it (which pales in comparison to the come up) was sitting in a jet when it just opened up the throttle at take up.

It was singularly the most horrific thing I had ever experienced. Purified body horror and I feel I am all the better for having had to endure it.

I don't know if this sounds silly to people that take MDMA regularly but it definitely was a time. The high wasn't too bad either.

Username: Hermaphrorapist

Hearing (and more importantly, appreciating) DJ Shadow's album Endtroducing. I'm highly doubtful I would be even remotely the same person I am today, if not.

When I was about 17 I joined a fan mailing list on yahoo called In/Flux. A lot of us became pretty close friends through it, we had meetups; but I lived in a small town out west and never got to join.

Well, when I graduated from High School I decided to do a cross country road trip, and primarily stayed with people I met through the list. I went to San Francisco (here I crashed with the guys from Anticon, they were all living in a 3 bedroom house at the time as they'd just moved to SF from the midwest.)

Then to LA (mailing list person) where we went to Coachella and I smoked weed for the first time. I got to meet DJ Shadow in person there, thanks to the efforts of the mailing list admin.

From there, El Paso (hotel), San Antonio (mailing list), New Orleans (where I lost my virginity to one of the members), Atlanta (mail), Maryland (different online friend), PA (different online friend), Buffalo (mail) where I'd just turned 19 so we could go to Toronto and get drunk, somewhere around Cincinatti (hotel), St Louis (mail), Nebraska (hotel), Colorado (different), Boise (hotel), and back home.

When I got back home, my parents continued their "when are you going to college" rap they'd been bugging me with for 6 months. I was talking to another guy from the mailing list in Melbourne, telling him I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, he said "Come to Australia!"

So I told my parents I'd go to college...in Melbourne. They agreed.

Once there, I made more IRL friends than I'd ever had before, in a very short amount of time. Ended up being a part of two bands, playing sample-based music (like my hero Shadow) with live instruments accompanying.

I'm back in the US now, and don't make music like I used to. But I'm pretty sure if I didn't have that mailing list, I would have become a Office Space, 9-5 and hating my life kinda person.

Edit: Oh, and about 4 years ago when living in San Diego, I met another mailing list friend from Sweden. For those not keeping score, yes we'd been in communication for about 10 years.

Met for the first time, went to a Diplo show (Diplo was one of the earliest members, so it was a mini-meetup).

I introduced him to this girlfriend of mine. Girlfriend, not girl friend - we were actually dating, but I was still recovering from a bad breakup and wasn't that into it. I saw the look in his eyes when he first saw her. I hooked them up. They're currently married and living in Sweden.

Username: anotheranotherother

In 1990 I was applying to colleges. I had a love of computers and writing, but I decided to abandon computers because being a geek in high school was so unrewarding. I applied to three ‘big name’ schools (Harvard, Stanford, and MIT), UC schools (Berkeley, UCLA, UCSD), and three small liberal arts colleges (Oberlin, Swarthmore, and Carleton). Carleton was far and away my first choice.

I’d visited the campus and found the small but focused liberal arts culture to be exactly what I was looking for. Located about 40 miles south of Minneapolis/St. Paul in Northfield, Minnesota, I thought I’d also find an experience very different than the life I had in the San Fernando Valley.

I asked two of my favorite teachers to write my college recommendations. Teaching English and Calculus, they were also the coaches of my Academic Decathlon team (and they eventually dated and got married, but that’s probably outside the scope of this post).

When I handed them the recommendation forms, they looked at each other and she asked, “Are you sure you want us to write your recommendations?” I instantly knew this was one of those moments that required a definitive answer, right off the bat.

Either take that feedback along with the forms, thank them, and find other teachers to write my recommendations, or acknowledge that these were the two teachers who knew me best, and tell them with certainty “Absolutely.

You two know me better than any other teachers,” counting on that vote of confidence to reflect positively in the recommendations they were to write. **I chose the latter.**

Okay, a bit of background here is needed. In high school I was a fantastic test-taker, and a horrible procrastinator. I would learn everything the class had to teach, but usually on my own in the final weeks of the class, or immediately before each unit test.

Assignments were chores to be avoided or rushed through, and test were the saviors that would buoy my grades. If not for teachers using tests to comprise the majority of their courses grades, I would have done more assignments, and done them better.

I just did the math and saw that if I aced tests I wouldn’t have to work hard on the rest. And so while in the top 5% of my class and with SAT scores in the 99th percentile, I was still considered a poor student.

Over the next several months college applications were filled out, recommendations were written, paperwork was submitted, and we entered the long cold winter of expectations and anticipation.

My two teachers had the custom of giving their students copies of the recommendations they wrote, a tradition they broke with in my case. This was my first (though clearly should have been my second) clue that my college plans might not be as bright as I had hoped.

To cut to the chase, of the nine schools I applied to, six of them required teacher recommendations and those were the six schools I was rejected from. The three schools I was accepted to (UC Berkeley, UCLA and UCSD), relied almost entirely on mathematica formulas, which made me a shoo-in.

In the end I went to UC Berkeley, intending to major in either Physics, English, or Dramatic Arts (yeah, I know, a lot of people have no idea what they want to do when they start college though).

Within the first two weeks there I met folks from the Berkeley Mac Users Group, started volunteering on their helpline a few weeks later, got a job as their campus liaison a few months later, got an internship at MacWEEK magazine a few months after that, started independently developing software for the Apple Newton, then moved over to web development (back in 1995 when the web was in its dark ages), spent as many years out of school as I had in, taking a year or two out here and there to work for SoMa web companies, and finally returned to Berkeley to finish my degree when their Cognitive Science department had fully taken root and I realized that was exactly the education I was looking for, blending my liberal arts and scientific interests into a greater whole.

I finally graduated from Berkeley 10 years after I started, firmly entrenched in the technological world. I spent a year designing at Yahoo before leaving to get a masters degree in HCI at Carnegie Mellon where I met my wife, and then came back to the Bay Area to design UX for Google in 2003. My life is completely different than it would have been if I spent the first four years of my post-secondary life in Northfield, Minnesota studying literature and creative writing.

I’ll never know what that life would have held, but the life I have now is so different and so much more fulfilling than the fears I had as a graduating senior about pursuing computer science. Every aspect of my life can be traced back to that one moment when I made a snap decision in answering the question “Are you sure you want **us** to write your recommendations?” In the short term I thought I gave the worst possible answer to that question, but in the long term it was the best mistake I ever made.

Username: kfury

I'm positive no one will see this, but fuck it, this might do me some good. It was freshman year of high school, and as far as I could remember, I had been the weird kid. It was just how always I saw myself. After a while, it became internalized.

It almost was like I was TRYING to make myself weird and have very few friends. And when I say weird, I mean obnoxiously so.

I would talk in third person sometimes just to piss people off, make screeching sounds because I could, correct and nitpick every little thing people would say, and you could not force me to give a fuck.

Maybe it was to justify not having many friends to start with. I started to hang out with the other weird kids because I figured that's what I was supposed to do.

They weren't too choosy with who hung out with them, and I fit in well enough. Besides, more friends = better, right?

Anyways, back to high school. I was hanging out in the library at lunch and my "friends" were just being their normal "lol I'm so random and I liek anime and everyone else sucks if the aren't in the group hey wanna play magic or yu-gi-oh?" selves. I don't know what caused it, but I think I realized I deserved better.

I wasn't like these kids deep down, I just made myself that way. I made myself weird to at least fit in a group. And I was so sick of their pathetic dramas! "She stole this card from me!" or "he scratched my cuticle and made it bleed! I fucking hate him!" or "my parents/teachers/(insert authority figures here) are so fucking stupid!" I was so done with it.

So, I figured if I made myself weird, I could make myself normal again. And that's when I changed myself. I stopped hanging out with them, started to eat by myself for a while.

Got the obnoxiousness out my system a little. Had to learn how to socialize like a regular person. Eventually, I started to hang around more popular people.

Not the dickheaded ones, more of the leadership kids that are eternally upbeat and at least pretend to care about what you're doing.

And then an amazing thing happened; I started to care about things too. I didn't dismiss people as much anymore, class got more interesting, and I think I connected with my family a little better.

In the 5 years since, I've been constantly self improving. Closer friends, out of the house more and more, a bigger focus on my physical appearance, etc. I'm happy with my turn around, and I think I'm a better person for it.

Username: SLICKWILLIEG

I was really unpopular in school. Everyone made fun of me and picked on me and bullied me because I was an easy target. Overweight, didn't shower nearly often enough, and thanks to an emotionally abusive mother, I had no fucking idea how to properly interact with people.

Seriously, one day I told her about this kid who was barking at me and she told me I should crouch down, duck my head, peer up at him, and meow softly.

I was in sixth grade and the only real friend I had was a pet rat. Her name was Jade and she used to be the class pet in fifth grade. But everyone hated her, too, so the teacher let me have her. I loved that rat so much.

She got really sick around christmas in sixth grade. I didn't know what was wrong with her back then, but I now know it was heart failure. Probably from the awful diet she was fed. (Same thing my mom was feeding me.

Fried chicken, potato chips, brownies, everything with tons of butter.) It was late at night and I was in the living room holding her on my chest and comforting her. She was scared and struggling to breathe. I offered her a bit of an almond joy swoop.

They were pringles-shaped pieces of chocolate bars. She took a nibble of it and settled down on my chest. A few minutes later she started squeaking and jerking around.

She died. I started crying and panicking and I tried to wake up my mom, who was on the couch beside my chair. She was pretty well drunk, like always. She woke up enough to yell at me that she knew and to put Jade in a box and let her sleep.

I realized then just how little my mom cared for me. My only friend had just died and she didn't care. She truly didn't care.

I held Jade for a while until her body went stiff, then went to wake up my dad to tell him. He was concerned and came and held her body and stuff and my mom finally pretended to care.

After everything was done, I just laid in bed, with no idea what to do. My best friend was dead and my mother didn't care about me.

She wasn't the wonderful person she'd always claimed to be. I'd never even considered it before, I'd never had the urge, but I got up and went to the bathroom cabinet. I was going to down a bunch of painkillers and kill myself.

We didn't have any. I kind of fell apart for a while and went into a depression. I started self-harming in seventh or eighth grade.

I'm twenty two now and while I still have some issues, things are a lot better now. But that night when Jade died, everything changed. It was rough, but I'd like to think it was for the better.

Username: Roehok

For me, the day everything changed was the day I walked in the door from school and saw my mom's boyfriend sitting on the couch watching TV.

The man had been an abusive monster for years, basically making our lives hell with a combination of physical, emotional and psychological abuse that Abu Ghraib employees could have learned from.

But finally, one day, in a fit of rage, he packed all his things and got the fuck out, as though he were the victim and couldn't stand it anymore. Suffice it to say, we were relieved.

For a few weeks, my siblings and I had peace. We didn't have to fear going home. We didn't have to tip-toe around like criminals in our own house, cautious of any little mistake that might set him off. Even the wrong look or lack of a look at all sometimes sent him into a rage. But we had peace for that few weeks.

But my mom unfortunately had the battered-wife syndrome pretty bad it turned out. After weeks and weeks of him calling and begging her to take him back, promising to change, and blah blah blah, she finally buckled and invited him to return, in spite of and regardless of all the hell he'd put us kids through. She still "loved" him in some twisted way, and wanted to believe his promises.

Needless to say, all those promises were forgotten and the abuse started up again within days. We were trapped again.

But when I walked into the house and saw him sitting on the couch that day, something kinda died inside me. I didn't realize it at the time. At the time, I just felt really friggin' horrible.

But I realized years later that in that moment, I'd decided internally that my mom, the one person who was supposed to watch over us and protect us, had chosen him over me. It took me years to figure out why that one moment had crushed me so. I'd always wanted to love my mom and see her as a victim too.

I developed learned helplessness, PTSD, and a grab-bag of other personality quirks that led me to make all kinds of bad choices later in life. And of course the main issue any abused kid goes through--self blame--hit me like a run-away freight train.

What's wrong with me? What did I do wrong? Why would she choose him over me? I must be worthless and useless and good for nothing. She of course did everything she could to dissuade me from that opinion at the time, but actions speak louder than words, especially for a kid who doesn't entirely understand all the words.

But at some point decades later, my psyche finally admitted it to me, the heart-breaking conclusion that it had come to in that moment subconsciously, and then repressed from me for years. I was sitting at the computer, chatting with a friend about the abuse I'd gone through so many years later.

And when I typed out a sentence defending my mom's actions in taking him back, it all hit me all at once. She actually made a really shitty fucking choice that day.

This is the second moment in my life where things turned around. I broke down bawling like a little boy for nearly twenty minutes before I was able to compose myself. It was a cathartic moment where I realized for perhaps the first time in my life that all that shit was absolutely and truly not my fault.

My desire to see my mom as a hero, an over-coming victim had forced me to put all the blame on myself instead. And when I finally admitted to myself that she was at least partly to blame, I was able to let go of a lot of shit I'd taken on into my own heart.

Mostly it was his fault. I know that. He was a coward and a weakling and a psychotic, terrified of his own shadow who needed to make himself feel strong by beating up, bullying and dominating over helpless a helpless woman and her little kids.

All bullies and trolls are basically cowards deep down inside. A person who is truly powerful doesn't have to wave their power over people's heads. They don't have to prove it to anybody. But I digress.

The main point is, honesty is one of the most important traits you can cultivate. If you're brave enough to be completely and totally honest with yourself, you might save yourself decades of struggle. It took me a whole lot of talking about the past to finally accidentally stumble over the truth buried in my own mind.

Username: thudly

Understanding and accepting that it’s okay to be neurodivergent or autistic (wasn’t raised to think that way, trying to re-educate parents), and subsequently realizing that i am neurodivergent.

I had horrible experiences and falling outs with a couple friend groups. One in particular completely destroyed me because i was trying *so* hard to fit in and get people to like me or even talk to/interact with me.

But the more i tried, the more everyone hated me and were talking negatively about me behind my back, until i was kicked out of the group with 0 explanation. I lamented to someone in the group i was cool with (un?surprisingly an autistic woman who empathized and did seem to like me), and i eventually got an explanation from another individual, basically outlining how certain behaviors or the way i spoke were problematic or hurtful to other people. I had 0 idea, and some of the things they mentioned still don’t make sense to me (happened over a year ago).

I’m hurt by the whole experience, but mainly because nobody ever bothered to talk to me about what was wrong. I had no idea i was making anyone uncomfortable or offended. I was just trying to make friends and interact with them the only way i knew how, and it was never a problem in the past (as far as i’m aware).

The more i spoke, the less everyone else did, and this went on for months until i was kicked out. I just thought everyone hated me (which is true i guess) and kept trying to get at least one person to engage with me, but i was really just pushing everyone further away the harder i tried.

I don’t know if it’s an age thing since the group was a little older, but i guess the “culture” for lack of a better term was not the same as i was used to.

And nobody bothered addressing it or telling me that my behavior/personality was problematic until it became too much of an issue for everyone to put up with—they weren’t planning on telling me after kicking me out either, it was only because i asked since it basically felt like i was shut out by everyone for no reason, or because they thought i was annoying or too young or something. I took responsibility for myself and apologized profusely, but it felt so terrible because i had no idea, and everyone just assumed i was a massive asshole.

I legitimately didn’t know or understand that i was the problem, there was nothing to indicate that i was doing anything wrong. I’ve been bullied and excluded from stuff forever, so i didn’t have any reason to think otherwise, just that they wanted to get rid of me by ignoring me.

They only ever told me once about one specific phrase i would habitually use that made some people uncomfortable/upset, and i immediately stopped and tried to change my language habits even if i didn’t personally think it was hurtful. And constantly told them to please tell me if i’m doing/saying anything else wrong because i don’t want to unknowingly hurt someone.

But nobody wanted to do that i guess, since they just assumed i should automatically know better? I was always okay with other friend groups prior, so how am i supposed to know what is/isn’t acceptable if they don’t tell me?

I try to be more conscious of how i say things, but i tend to keep my mouth shut around other people now since i don’t know how not to mess it up. I have no friends now, but i’m in college so i’m busy anyway. I kinda shut down now if i ever catch myself talking to another person for more than a few sentences.

I’m afraid of being rejected and crushed again like i was, after having a large group of people that i really liked and cared for and respected completely shut me out and reveal that they all hate me for.. well, being myself, pretty much. And that they didn’t like or care enough about me to give me any guidance or a heads-up when things first started to go south.

I try to let people know what’s going on in my head often since i don’t make it obvious in my body language, but most people aren’t used to doing that and don’t bother unless i explicitly ask (usually several times).

Username: StreetSeraph

When my roommate/best friend at University succeeded in killing himself.

He had been going through a rough time for the last year. It started when he had an 'overdose event' due to some cocktail of his prescription drugs (prescribed), cocaine, and whatever else was in the cocaine. He had a seizure on the couch when we were all recovering some time in the early morning, and suffered some brain damage in his frontal lobe.

Anyway, after that he was so much the same but so finely different. He had been a very promising student. A published theoretical physicist before he even arrived at university. We used to smoke weed on the roof and talk shit about the universe until we fell asleep up there.

When he came back he was still all there, still remembered everything, was still very, very, very smart. But he had lost some element of his creativity that he couldn't explain, that I could never understand, and he couldn't live without.

When he came back I moved out of the house I lived in with my friends from residence and moved in with him. I had this guilt, and I needed to try and help him. He quickly descended into a depression. A depression of being too much too soon, and now perceiving that all he could have been was lost.

We still talked about the universe, but I could tell it made him sad.. so we stopped. He started abusing drugs, and I mean abusing, this is how I learned the difference. And no matter what I did to try and mitigate it, he just kept stumbling down that road.

The moment it really all changed for me was the night when he first tried to end it. When he stumbled out of his bedroom toward the bathroom, slurring incomprehensible aggressions at the world. Losing control of everything, bowels included, and falling into the bath tub.

He had taken the whole bottle of his antidepressants. After the ambulance left, I just sat in the corner of our kitchen crying like I didn't know I could. Lamenting everything. I called my mom and just cried.

He went home for a while, came back, it happened again. In the middle of the night again. Just banging on the walls and I woke with a start. Called him another ambulance, but didn't cry this time. More guilt. New resentment, which now fills me with more regret than I can describe. I resented him for being so sad.

He moved back in with his parents after that. I couldn't sleep at the apartment anymore; I would wake with a start like one of those falling dreams almost immediately when I fell asleep. Crashed on a friend's couch for the rest of the school year.

Talked my roommate whenever he was willing, which wasn't often, but mostly just kept on resenting. I was never open about it, but I felt it, and I still think about it everyday.

I went home for the summer, and got the call in late June 2009. His car had been found at the side of a rural road. He had ventured into the forest and hung himself. I just got in my parents minivan and drove and drove and drove in the wrong direction.

His poor family. His poor future. I couldn't absorb it. I was still smoking way too much weed, and just retreated into stupor. Never properly grieving or coping. I was angry at myself.. I bought him the cocaine.. I resented him.. I couldn't face his family, I couldn't face our friends. I made myself a victim in my own mind and it was very selfish.

Not long after that I started to cognize these things. I started to realize that the small kindnesses in life are whats really important. That my own certainties were just a waste of effort, that an open mind and a smile are more valuable than anything.

That happiness doesn't come from 'new states of mind' or other people, it comes from being comfortable with yourself and how your actions. I started trying hard in everything I did, and just tried to be kind to everyone. I've still struggled with substances from time to time, but I have perspective. I just want to live twice as well for both of us.

Username: treetimes

I was on my way to a music festival in '06. Minding my own business and driving in the slow lane on an interstate freeway at around 10pm when somebody tried to shove an 18-wheeler up my ass.

I was being passed by one truck and a truck *behind that guy* got impatient and decided to pass the first truck on the right.

The problem of course, is that the reason the first truck was staying in the left lane was because *I* was in the right lane. So when the second truck entered my lane at about 85mph -- I was occupying the same space at about 55mph.

No two objects can occupy the same space at the same time. It's the law or something. I rapidly accelerated to 85mph. And the fuel tank of my VW bus ignited on impact.

And because the truck driver had, at the last second (but still too late), made an emergency turn to go off the road instead of hitting me, he hit me at an angle such that the rear end of my bus went to the right.

So as the fireball rolled through my vehicle I was also spinning down the freeway. And my bus rolled over at least once but I can't really say how many times because I was a bit disoriented.

Suddenly finding yourself spinning and flipping down the freeway in a flaming Volkswagen will do that to you.

When my vehicle stopped moving I realized it was upright -- and through the flames I could see a possible way out. A cracked window I thought I could punch out.

I busted that sucker out in a most manly fashion. Which incidentally, was the last time my right hand ever functioned correctly. Turns out the extensor tendons that route around your knuckles are kinda important.

Anyway, that broken window allowed fire to kinda flow through the opening. And I could see that the driver's side door was open. And in the least dramatic moment since impact, I slid myself out into the darkness.

The scene after that was pretty crazy. People stopping, running about and yelling. Loud flames roaring up into the sky. Ambulances and a lifeflight helicopter.

And five weeks later I awoke from my medically induced coma to learn that I had missed the festival. Oh yeah, and that my body was permanently disfigured.

Third degree burns to 60% of my body, partially blinded, fingertip amputations, etc. And that's the moment in my life I can look at and say "that's when everything changed".

Username: [deleted]

When I realized I had an eating disorder and that I needed help.

I didn't want to believe it, the actions were almost robotic. I thought that if I got help it would make me gain weight, which was terrifying. My eating disorder was like my best friend, but I knew I was killing myself.

One of the hardest things was telling my mom about it and reaching out for help from someone besides my friends, and we went to see a psychiatrist only once because it was expensive and I had to lie to my mom and fake that I was all better, but that's another story.

I would get drunk underage. I wanted so badly to stop feeling. Anxiety and depression came upon me because of my eating disorder and low self esteem.

My best friend gave me the phone number for the counselor at our university because we came back from a party that night (I was wasted) and with two others in the room who didn't know my secret, I started shouting about how happy I was that I had an eating disorder so I wouldn't get fatter. How embarrassing.

Once I started to see a counselor at my university, I found self confidence and understood why this came upon me. I felt like I could believe that food didn't control my life anymore. I could talk about my past without breaking down.

The misconception with eating disorders is that with proper treatment, it will eventually go away. As sad as it is, I will carry this with me for the rest of my life. I will always be in recovery.

The urges get better and the lies die down, but it doesn't go away. But I know I'll be okay, and I am so happy to be in recovery.

It pains me to think about how much I hated how I looked, and it wasn't until I went to college that I could look back at old toddler pictures and see that I wasn't fat like I thought I was. Even when I was a size 00 I thought I was so fat compared to everyone else.

It's the most uncomfortable feeling ever to to live in a body that repulses you, but thankfully I realized I had a problem and that I needed help. I am comfortable in my own skin.

Now I don't need to hide behind a fake smile, and I really am that girl who is happy almost all the time. I have accepted my body and how I look, and I never want anybody to feel the way I did.

Anyone who needs someone to talk to or vent to, feel free to PM me. Sorry this was so long, thank you for reading. Much love.

Username: threedoorcinemaclub

Here are a few for me. I like to think of these as my "Doctor Who regeneration" moments -- life experiences so critical and/or traumatizing that they changed my worldview in ways big and small that I cannot always entirely articulate.

* Graduating high school. Feeling adrift for a good five years after that, not yet sure who I was or what I would make of myself in this life.

* Pursuing a career path and landing my first real job. It's something that came entirely from me, and my will to do it, and it taught me that I can accomplish things that I am resolute and diligent about.

* Developing a relationship with my future wife (who I had known since high school), and starting a life together with her. Realizing I had something of value to offer a partner, who loves me for who I am.

* My first layoff, from a company that I (in my naive youth) gave everything to, and really believed in. This rattled me to my core, and taught me some very hard life lessons about loyalty and how companies work. My wife would tell you that I had career PTSD for a long time because of this.

* My dad's open-heart surgery. This coincided with a lot of other hard stuff going on with my career at the time, and thinking back on it, it's one of the times when my ability to keep things together was most severely tested during my life. My dad pulled through and is still with us.

* Losing my mom to cancer. It's been almost five years, and I still miss her terribly. Going through this experience with my family (the cancer itself was mercifully brief) did a lot to crystallize what is really important in this world.

A lot of stuff seems important and critical, but I promise you that most of it *isn't really*. (Side note to this one: This is when we finally got the dogs that we had been dreaming about adopting for years, and I think they have brought out a positive side of me that had been damaged a lot by loss and career strife.)

* Starting a business, after almost two decades of experience in my industry. Being successful enough to make a pretty good living, and have a decent life.

This has taught me that the impostor syndrome that I have struggled with should not be something I let consume me.

* COVID-19 definitely goes here. I know this pandemic has damaged me (and all of us, really) in ways that I cannot fully understand the scope of yet.

I am eager to put things back to "normal," such as it is, but I think the definition of that has changed forever, no matter how hard some people want to fight it.

Username: Geekboxing

The morning I woke up after two weeks locked in my bedroom and I said to myself, "Never again."

I have struggled with severe depression most of my life, it's lead to stress attacks, addictions, suicide attempts and self harming.

At different points in my life I have coped better than others, sometimes with the aid of drugs or counseling, but nothing stuck for long and I usually fell back down into my pit.

Two years prior to that morning, I had spent an entire year locked in my bedroom, I rarely left - I call it my lost year. I met a guy, online, we started dating... a year later, he broke up with me and it sent me back into my deep depression.

I woke up that morning two weeks later and realized I didn't want that to be my life. I didn't want to be someone who used people, who depended on them like crutches to hold themselves up.

I wanted to be able to really love, to really commit to someone - to be strong for them sometimes instead of always needs them to be strong for me. I went and found a counselor, and luck would have it I finally found the right counselor for me.

She really understands me, how I think and how best to communicate with me. A year after I started seeing her, I met someone else. I wasn't totally fixed, I still had problems, but so did he - but he gave me a reason to keep pushing, because I wanted to be better for him.

I have been in counseling for six years now, and in a relationship with my SO for five years (in July this year!). We're engaged, living together, working and growing together and we are far better people than we were before we met.

It has been a very long and incredibly painful road, there were days where I could measure my progress only in inches, but at least I kept moving forward.

I still have further to go, I still struggle with some of my old self-harming techniques that I use to cope with stress, but every day I get better, a little stronger, a little wiser.
I look back at the person I was before; a victim, and I can't believe I ever let them win for so many lost years, I can't believe I didn't fight for myself sooner. But perhaps things happen when they should, and not a minute before.

I've often wanted to go back and find the guy who broke up with me, and tell him thank you - for sticking with me for a year, but mostly for leaving me (kind of weird huh?), because it took the pain of him walking out to wake me up.

Sometimes you have to lose something to gain so much more.

Username: themaskedllama

My friends teased me that I seemed to take an undue interest in a guy I barely knew. [Let's call him Bob.]

SO... I hatched a plan to prank all our friends. I talked to Bob, and he was cool with it. We spent time chatting all the time on Instant Messenger (this was ~12 years ago and we lived 4 hours apart), getting to know things about one another that we could bring out at appropriate times with our other friends, to convince them we were totally into each other.

After a month of this (maybe it was two months?), I went to Target and bought myself a $100 diamond solitaire. I secretly stopped at Bob's place and gave it to him before heading on to another friend's birthday party.

Bob shows up to the party, gets down on one knee, and "proposes". Everyone is completely flabbergasted but totally believes it. About 30 minutes in, we confess and laughs are had all around.

SO. Those of us from out of town were all crashing at another friend's house. Bob and I are on an emotional high from our prank, plus having spent the last month or so doing nothing but getting to know each other.

Try to fall asleep holding hands, but once everyone else is asleep, we end up in the kitchen making out.

SO. We start dating.

SO.I end up moving to this other state to be near him, thinking I'll also be hanging out with my other friends... but they live on the other end of a big city, 45 minutes one way, and it never really happens. In the middle of that, he started playing an MMO.

I'd never played, he got me my own account so he could play his in peace. Long story short[ish], I thought we'd get married; he was kinda trying to convince himself for a couple years but finally stopped trying. We broke up.

SO. A week later while I am still reeling, preparing to move back in with my parents and in NO way looking for a mate, a random guy in my guild (for non-gamers: family/clique/buddy group in the game) congratulates me on an in-game accomplishment.

We start talking. We hit it off immediately. We start talking on the phone daily. We start talking on the phone daily... for hours.

We start talking on the phone daily... for hours... and falling asleep on the phone, waking up to find we're still connected. We meet in person a few times.

Two years later, we're married. Seven years and one week later, it was today. All because my friends teased me about asking questions about a guy I didn't know.

Username: tigrrbaby

Early November 2010. The person who I thought was my best friend attempted to manipulate me into breaking up with the woman who is now my wife.

I was at a point where I wasn't sure if I ever wanted kids, and my girlfriend (now wife) definitely wanted them. We had also had a fight on Halloween, because I complained about her not liking my friends. This was a dick move on my part.

She's an introvert with an incredibly quiet voice; we were at a loud bar with a medium sized group of people she didn't know, and I didn't do a good job of introductions. I thought she should have been interacting with people more; she was just observing and trying to get comfortable.

Every time she tried to speak to someone, they couldn't hear her. I told her she should be louder, she got mad, I got mad, it became a whole thing.

We had been dating about a year and a half at this point. My "best friend", who knew me since I was a teenager, kept telling me that I didn't want kids, that I had never wanted kids, and would never want kids.

They also leveraged the fight we had around Halloween to make my wife out to be the bad guy that hated all my (now former) friends, or didn't make an effort to get to know them.

The real issue was that my (former) friends were an incredibly exclusionary, insular, and closed-minded group of people who shunned anyone who thought differently from them.

My wife is just sort of a normal lady with a great sense of humor and passion for her job. I (and my former friends) are giant dorks into table top gaming, video games, and all sorts of other nerdery). They viewed my wife as an outsider, and treated her like one.

It became very obvious very quickly that I was, and had been, being manipulated by this person for a very long time. My "best friend" and I had a falling out that reached a peak in March 2011. Haven't spoken to them in about 3 years.

In those 3 years, I've advanced my career beyond my expectations, realized I definitely wanted kids (after my sister and now-sister-in-law both had kids within 3 days of one another--my nephew and niece are awesome), bought a house, and got married.

And when I realized my best friend was trying to sabotage the best relationship that I'd ever been a part of... that's when everything changed.

Moral of the story: nerds can be fucking mega-assholes. Especially LARPers that love drama.

Username: TheHanna

When I realized that my parents are not those perfect people leading a perfect relationship.

One day I hid in my parents house because I didn't want to go to school (no particular reason, just wanted to play video games and whatnot), walked out the front door, around the house, into the basement and waited until my parents left for work.

My mom left first. While sitting there, waiting for my father to leave, I heard him make a phone call and being the curious kid I was, started listening in on it.

She was supposed to wait in the hotel room, he was going to be there in about half an hour. I was 10 years old at the time, all my friends had these weird broken homes with single moms and parents always yelling at each other and talking about divorce in front of their kids (even when I was present,

they just didn't give a fuck) so I immediately suspected some shit going on and my heart sank but I told myself that he's probably talking to my mom, some romantic getaway or something, didn't want to tell the kids and stuff.

He hung up and a couple of seconds later called my mom to ask her if she could pick up a couple of things when she gets back.

He left, and ever since then I felt disgusted by my own father. I started going through his things on a regular basis, went through his phone (this was the late 90's, bypassing "phone security" was longpressing *) to check for strange numbers and I made a habit out of skipping school to eavesdrop on my parents and especially my father in the morning.

My parents had issues, major issues. Divorce was "discussed" (more like yelled at one another) and what fucked me up the most was how my parents talked about me and my sister.

They weren't fighting about who gets to keep us, they were fighting about who has to keep us.

After all these years they're still together, went through a couple more rough patches, were seperated for a while ('Daddy has to go away for a while, for work') and today they seem like a regular mid-50s couple. I don't trust any one of them, with anything. I don't even know if I love them.

On a related note, I recently watched Freaks and Geeks to see what all the fuss was about. When Neal found out his father was cheating on his mother, it felt like somebody was punching me in the guts and I spent the rest of the day crying. Fucking parents man.

Username: ICameForTheWhores