r/sgmyconfession

My 2 roommates slept with eachother’s girls behind eachother’s back, and none of them are aware of it

Might sound crazy, but I’ve seen enough in life that made me get less shocked but the things people do.
Roommate 1 lets call him Pat, has been in a loving serious relationship with his girl since high school, if u look at them on the average day, they look like ur classic loving couple, hanging out together, calling eachother, supporting eachother and their fights dont even look that bad, no grudges held, fast recovery and a new good day, 2 months ago I came back home to my roommate number 2 who we’ll call Justin, with her giving him a good soul snatcher in the living room with music playing and birds chirping, as if none of them is comitting infidelity, the moment I saw them I just stared for a solid 3 seconds and then went into my room, both of them froze then Pat’s girl followed me into the room panicking and begging I don’t tell Pat and all that BS I just told her it’s their life, I’m not willing to come between the both of them and destroy a 6 years relationship, she just kept crying, tried to hug me, I gently pushed her away, and she left the house.
Justin was watching from the background the whole time, and frankly he was aware I wouldn’t say anything to Pat, as I have a ‘cold unbothered’ personality, and I’m not the type to tell on others or try to create any problems, and the thing is he wasnt even regretting the thing, he actually smirked after she left and said ‘well there it goes huh’, I just smirked back and told him to go away because I was about to demolish a burger I had brought with me.

Fast forward 4 months, Pat doesn’t know a thing and his relationship seems usual, nothing weird, both their girls come over sometimes, most of the time I don’t sit and hang out with the group, Pat came home drunk, and Justin was visiting his parents in a different city, he comes into my room and strikes a weird conversation, talking about women he dated during high school before his current girl, then out of nowhere tells me, ‘U know I trust u and Im not supposed to be telling u this, but when Justin had just started dating his girl I slept with her at another friend group’s place and he regretted it ever since’ I just stared at him and smiled and told him to just move on, which was followed by him trying to sleep on my bed and me kicking him out (gently of course).
I’m not sure wether what happend with both of them is karma, but it surely isn’t normal nor a pleasant thing to go through, I haven’t told any of them and I am not planning to do so, I just my distance…
What do u think?

When we were together. Basically they both had a physical picture mimicking some album art. It was meaningful to them. They took it sometime after graduating. My ex had a “memory box” and I knew it was in there. When she was in the shower I looked in the memory box so I could see her friend topless. Her friend was hot and a lesbian and I loved being able to see what I would otherwise never get to see. Almost took a picture of it. I remember wishing that I did. Too risky though. I looked at it multiple times. Never told anyone

I don't really know what I'm looking for by posting this. Maybe I'm genuinely just crying for help.

Months ago, I lost my fiancée because of my own choices.

I cheated on someone who loved me, trusted me, and was preparing to spend the rest of her life with me. There are explanations for how I became capable of doing that - selfishness, terrible boundaries, seeking validation, compartmentalizing, convincing myself that my actions could somehow exist separately from their consequences - but none of those explanations excuse it.

I loved her. That's one of the hardest things for me to live with.. because I've had to learn that loving someone doesn't automatically mean you're treating them with love.

When everything came out, I watched what my choices did to her.

I watched someone who once felt safe with me become hypervigilant. Ordinary things weren't ordinary anymore. If I went into the bathroom with my phone and closed the door, there was suddenly a reason for her mind to wonder what I was doing. Things that never would have frightened her before now did.

And I understood why.

She tried to forgive me. We tried to rebuild. But forgiveness didn't magically restore the safety I had destroyed.

She was constantly having to reconcile two versions of me... the man she loved and thought she knew, and the man who had been capable of betraying her while telling her that I loved her.

I can't imagine what that does to someone's perception of reality.

Eventually, the relationship became exhausting for both of us, but especially for her. She wasn't trying to punish me. She was trying to protect herself from being blindsided again.

And eventually she chose herself.

She ended our engagement.

I don't blame her.

I've spent the months since then trying to change. I've examined things about myself that I spent years avoiding. I've worked on boundaries, integrity, validation-seeking, selfishness, and understanding why I was capable of betraying someone I genuinely loved.

I haven't entered another relationship. I tried opening myself up to someone once and realized I wasn't ready, so I told her the truth and stepped away. I don't want another person to become medicine for wounds I haven't healed.

Oddly enough, I've also spent a lot of time talking to strangers online about betrayal.

Sometimes they're people who were cheated on. Sometimes they're people who cheated and don't understand why they did it. Sometimes they're people wondering whether forgiveness means they have to stay.

I keep telling people things I've had to learn the hardest possible way.

That remorse isn't the same thing as change.

That forgiveness doesn't guarantee reconciliation.

That understanding why you hurt someone doesn't excuse hurting them.

That someone can forgive you and still decide they can never feel safe with you again.

And that you cannot undo betrayal by hating yourself enough.

I believe all of those things when I'm saying them to somebody else.

I'm having an increasingly difficult time believing the last one when I'm saying it to myself.

I still miss her terribly.

There are so many things I wish I could tell her. Sometimes I want desperately for her to know that I understand things I should have understood when she was standing directly in front of me trying to explain them.

But she chose distance, and I have to respect that.

So I don't tell her.

And maybe that's part of accountability too.

The person I hurt doesn't owe me access to her life just because I've changed. She doesn't owe me the opportunity to demonstrate that change. She doesn't owe me forgiveness that looks the way I want forgiveness to look.

I understand that intellectually.

Emotionally, I'm struggling.

As the months have passed, somehow the shame has gotten heavier instead of lighter. There are days when I can recognize that I'm becoming a different person, and then there are days when all I can see is what that growth cost someone else.

I think that's why I'm writing this.

I don't want someone to tell me that what I did wasn't that bad. It was.

I don't want anyone to tell me she should take me back. She doesn't owe me that.

And I don't want reassurance that I'm secretly the victim here. I'm not.

I just don't know how you're supposed to fully accept responsibility for something that changed another person and still believe you're allowed to have a life afterward.

I'm trying.

I'm genuinely trying.

But lately I'm scared that I'm losing that fight.

A year in therapy, a year in psychiatry, the medication has lost its effect. I'm so scared.

I’ve never admitted this to anyone, and honestly, I don’t know whether posting it anonymously makes me feel better or worse.

My best friend and I had been close for years. When she started dating her boyfriend, I pretended to be happy for her. In reality, I was jealous.

Not because I wanted her boyfriend. I wanted her attention.

Before the relationship, she called me every day. We talked about everything. Then suddenly, he became the person she told everything to. She started canceling plans with me, spending weekends with him, and disappearing for hours.

I told myself I was just worried about her.

I wasn't.

I started planting little doubts.

If she told me they had an argument, I'd say things like, "I don't know… that sounds like a red flag."

If he didn't reply quickly, I'd tell her, "You deserve someone who actually makes you a priority."

Sometimes I'd exaggerate things he'd said because I knew exactly which words would make her suspicious.

The worst part was that I acted like her protector while secretly creating the problems I was supposedly protecting her from.

Eventually, she started checking his phone and questioning everything he did.

They fought constantly.

And whenever she came to me crying, I was there to comfort her.

I became the person she relied on while I was partly responsible for destroying the relationship.

One night she told me she was finally going to break up with him.

I remember feeling relieved.

That's the part I'm most ashamed of.

She was heartbroken, and I was secretly happy because I thought I'd get my best friend back.

They broke up a few days later.

For a while, everything went back to the way it used to be. She called me constantly. We went out together. She told me I was the only person who had been there for her.

Every time she said that, I felt worse.

Months later, I accidentally heard her talking to someone about the relationship. She said she sometimes wondered whether she had overreacted and whether her boyfriend had actually been as bad as she believed.

I wanted to tell her the truth.

I almost did.

But I stayed quiet.

Because telling her would mean admitting that some of the advice I'd given her wasn't advice at all.

It was manipulation.

She still thinks I saved her from a terrible relationship.

I didn't.

I just couldn't stand watching someone else become more important to me than I was to them.

I destroyed something that wasn't mine to destroy, and the person I hurt the most still believes I was trying to protect her.

I don't know if I'll ever tell her.

And honestly, I'm ashamed that part of me is still afraid of losing her if I do.

I know I know you're thinking what in the actual fuck.

It started with me looking him up online. I found a number associated with his name. I had no idea if it was actually his number or not but texted it anyways using a fake number for myself. To my surprise, he answered and it went from there.

I created an entirely fake person. Fake pictures, fake name, fake backstory. All the while, I was still attending therapy with him and being my usual self. He even talked to me about this person in therapy without knowing he was talking about me.

Therapy had been going well until it wasn't. And I want to be clear that I'm not blaming him for what I did. He's human first. I think his level of self-disclosure contributed to my perception of the relationship. Information he shared that wasn't necessary for my treatment made the relationship feel more personal to me than it should have, and I became increasingly curious about him outside the therapy room. I was also experiencing transference. That doesn't excuse what I did, and I take responsibility for my decision to cross that boundary.

I know it was wrong. It's the most terrible thing I've done. I ruined the most important thing in therapy, the therapeutic relationship and the trust that comes with it. I regret it every single day.

When he found out, and I'm still not 100% sure how he did, it felt like my world came crashing down. I was scared, confused, and embarrassed.

I had spent months learning things about him that I never should have been trying to learn that way. I was devastated knowing it was over.

After he found out he sent me an email telling me that he knew, explained why he thought I did what I did, some other stuff and rightfully terminated me as a client.

I initially reacted with anger, denied it, and told him to leave me alone. This was my last communication with him until recently.

I've thought about what I did almost every single day. It not only destroyed our therapeutic relationship but it almost ruined my marriage as well. When everything came to light, I thought my life was over. It was one of the most terrifying and humiliating experiences of my life. I can't even begin to imagine how he must've felt when he found out. I have carried that guilt every day since.

Recently I sent him an apology. I know I may have been the last person he ever wanted to hear from, and I didn't expect anything from him. I just needed him to know I genuinely regret what I did and that I'm sorry for the harm I caused. But apologizing to him didn't make the guilt disappear so I'm here confessing it.

There's no good excuse for what I did. I hurt someone who trusted me, destroyed a therapeutic relationship that had been important to me, and nearly destroyed my marriage in the process. I can't undo any of it but I can acknowledge that I did it and take responsibility for it. I fucked up. Big time. And I would never do anything like that again. Accountability has to eventually lead somewhere other than endless self punishment.

Edited to add so people quit asking the same things

1. This is unfortunately real, not ai.
2. From what I know, he did not know until later on. Otherwise I feel like he would have not continued to engage and turn the conversations inappropriate. Assume what you want but none of you literally know if he knew or not. Only he does.
3. I am not diagnosed bpd, and my psychiatrist does not think I have it. I'll take the word of professionals over redditors.
4. Yes he did tell my husband without my knowledge. It's not illegal. He was concerned what I might do once he confronted me about it so he told my husband so he could be prepared.
5. Yes the therapist crossed professional boundaries BEFORE any of this happened. This does NOT excuse what I did still.
6. You can tell me im a terrible person etc. But you do not know me. You know 1 terrible thing that I did.
7. I still am in therapy, my husband and I are still in marriage therapy.
8. I am sorry, and of course I think about how it affected him. That's where my guilt is coming from. This probably affected how he sees and trusts clients and its his work, of course it had a negative affect on him.
9. I did a awful thing but I am not an awful person because of my actions. I'm not going to keep trying to defend myself because I don't have to prove myself to strangers online and if you formulated an opinion about me, great. It's simply that, an opinion. Again you DON'T know me.

Three months ago, this man, this ghost we thought had been dead for, like, twenty years... just showed up. Knocked on my mom’s door like it was no big deal.

And let me paint the picture for you: scruffy gray beard, hollow cheeks, dragging this busted, seen-too-much-shit leather suitcase like it owed him rent. My older sister Laura opened the door. She almost passed out. Legit. I thought she was gonna throw up or deck him or both.

To really get it, you gotta go back.

Mom always said our dad was a hero. A journalist locked up overseas for speaking out against some messed-up regime. Fighting for truth, freedom of the press, all that. Then, a few years later, came the news: he died in prison from untreated pneumonia. No funeral. Just a tragedy and a handful of ashes we never saw

The End. Period. That was the version we grew up with.The only one we knew.The only one we believed.

Laura? hated him. Even with the martyr story, she never forgave him for leaving. She always said: Doesn’t matter how noble the excuse,, gone is still gone.

So when she saw him standing there, all she said and voice shaking with fury, not surprise, was: You don’t get to be here.

My brother Michael? Different vibe. He’s quiet. Always thinking, always feeling more than he lets on. He stared at Dad for what felt like forever, like he was trying to figure out if this was real life or a dream. Then just asked: How’d you get out of prison? And… why now?"

Me? I didn’t even know what I felt. It wasn’t hate. Wasn’t joy either. It was like the ground disappeared under my feet. I’d built this whole version of him in my head. This myth. This tragic hero. And standing there was just… a tired old man.

For weeks, he was like a ghost floating around the edges of our lives.

Mom? Not having it. She shut that door on any second chances. SWouldn’t dig up that past she'd already buried.

So guess who took him in?

Aunt freaking Bertha. 

She said the poor guy had nowhere else to go. So, she gave him a dusty little room in the back of her house. He didn’t argue. Just nodded.

And then, one day, his body just… gave up.

The hospital ran a ton of tests. Nothing made sense. His immune system was shutting down but there was no infection, no cancer, like something inside him was rotting...

Aunt Bertha was crushed. Said he wasn’t eating. Barely slept. Claimed it was stress, guilt, all those years of hiding catching up with him. Dad kept saying his mouth felt gross. Headaches that wouldnt quit. Like something was rotting him from the inside.

Then, right before he died, he asked to see us. All of us.Not for love.Not for forgiveness, nope. Just… truth or to drop a bomb and peace out.

He could barely speak, but he was stubborn. Wouldn’t rest till he got it out.

Dad: I was in prison but Not for long, yeah, I was involved in politics. But they let me go after a few months. I didn’t come back because…(he looked at us. All three of us) because I found out you weren’t my biological kids.

Silence. My brain? Cracked

He went on."Your mom wrote me a letter while I was locked up. Said she loved me. But she’d lied. She told me the truth in that letter."

"I felt like everything in my life was fake. So I disappeared. I faked my death. Hid."

He didn’t cry. He just talked. Like he’d been carrying this weight so long and now he was finally allowed to put it down.

And we just… stood there. Statues. Broken. No one said a damn word.

-§-

Edit: Update**** I think it is too long for sharing in a post (just adding another part)

After he died, things got weird. Not at first.

Aunt Bertha called me two days after the funeral. Said she couldnt stay in the house. Said the room where he slept felt wrong and heavy. She swore she kept hearin something scratching inside the closet at night. But when she checked, nothing. Just dust and his old suitcase, still zipped up, still sitting where he left it

That thing freaked me out. Idk why. It was just a damn suitcase. But every time I looked at it, I felt like it was looking back.

Michael opened it. That’s his thing. So he did.

There wasnt much inside. A couple of shirts, a half-used bar of soap wrapped in paper (ew), some faded photos of people we didnt recognize. And this notebook. Leather-bound. No title. Just stuffed with pages of cramped handwriting.

We took it home. Dumb idea.

The first few pages were what you'd expect. Random notes. Political crap. Names. Numbers. But then the tone shifted. Got paranoid. Obsessive. He started writing like someone was watching him. Following him. There were pages scratched out so hard the paper tore.

There was an another note, dated just a few days before he died. One of the last things he wrote:

'That night I couldnt sleep. My mouth tasted weird. Bitter. Metallic. Like I’d been chewing on aluminum foil"

Laura wanted to burn it. Straight up tossed it in the sink and lit a match. But the damn thing wouldn’t catch. It blackened around the edges but never really burned.

The next day I went to see Mom. She looked worse than I’ve ever seen her. Like she’d aged ten years in a week.

She didnt even say hi, just stared out the window

Eventually, I got the nerve to ask her about the letter, okay, the one she sent Dad when he was in prison. The one that made him disappear.I told her I wanted the Truth. About everything and about him and about us.

About who our father really was

Or if he was even the only one

She didnt speak. Just turned her head slowly and gave me this look cold and scared at the same time. Like she wanted to tell me, but her mouth wouldnt let her.And then she said: What the hell are you talking about? Are you high again?

And She walked away.

That night, Laura called hysterical. Said she found Michael in the bathtub. Not dead. Not bleeding. Just sitting there, fully clothed, muttering to himself...over and over:

“He wasn’t supposed to come back. He wasn’t supposed to come back”

We checked him into a clinic the next day. He hasn’t said a word since.

Now it’s just me. Me and this notebook I cannot seem to throw away.

Well, Sometimes I think I see him. My dad. In reflections. In places he shouldn be.

Like he never left.

Like he’s still watching us

So, I went to Aunt Bertha’s place to ask her about it all. I needed answers. She let me in but there was something… off about her. Her eyes were too wide, like she hadn slept; her hands shook when she poured me a drink. She kept glancing over her shoulder, as someone might walk in.

I asked her about the suitcase. She didn answer right away. Then after a long silence, she finally spoke so soft I almost didn hear it:

“I loved him”

WHAT??

---

You ever wonder what mercury actually does to the body?

P.S. I Wanna See the Autopsy Report. Urgent!

EDIT April 12th Wanna share this little side story, it's a tiny branch off

Hi I'm a (21f) and this is my childhood story about me and my only best friend at the time. I was 5 and in KG2 and my only friend who was also my best friend was around the same age (Ashna) btw I tried finding her on social media a lot of times, anyway moving on. Bubble gum/chewing gum wasn't allowed in our school. 1 day underneath our desk we found a marble ball looking this which was weirdly soft, upon inspecting it, we found out that it's a chewed up Bubble gum, and you guessed it, we teared it in half and ATE ITTT. I still remember this incident to this day and it disgusts the shit outta me.

Also Ashna with a pixie haircut at that time who also was in marium child development centre if you are out there hmu girl

I’ve been carrying this for a long time, but today I learned something that completely broke me.

I was with my girlfriend for two years. Before we met, she already struggled with depression and self-harm. But I cheated on her for about five months. When she found out, I realized how badly I had hurt her. I decided to completely change. I removed every other girl from my social media and devoted myself entirely to her. I spent all my time, money, and effort trying to make things right.

She seemed happy, but sometimes she suddenly called me crying or got angry saying she can’t trust anyone anymore and I would try my best to comfort her.
Four months later, she died by suicide.

Since then, I’ve been overwhelmed with guilt and shame. I couldn’t face her friends or other people’s opinions. I fell into depression, dropped out of college, and have basically spent my life playing games and trying to escape reality.

Today, one of her friends told me something I had never known before. Apparently, while we were dating, my girlfriend once went to a club for fun. She knowingly drank a drink that had been spiked. She also told her friends that she had no hope left.
Learning this today has completely shattered me. I’ve already been taking antidepressants, but now I feel a level of guilt that makes it hard to imagine continuing my life.

I can’t stop thinking that everything is my fault. I don’t know how to live with this guilt anymore. I don’t even know what I’m asking for. I guess I just want to know if anyone has ever survived something like this, because right now I honestly don’t know how to keep going.

Recently found out my fiancée cheated on me. Not once, not twice, but multiple times.

We’ve been together for seven years since 2018. Like every couple, we’ve had our ups and downs, but I genuinely believed we would make it through. Our wedding is planned for this December, our BTO will be ready next year, and we even bought our wedding rings in March.

In April, she told me she was having second thoughts about our relationship. By May, she said she wanted to end things. I agreed in the heat of the moment, but soon realized I still loved her and wanted to fight for us. She wasn’t willing to get back together but said she was “open to it,” so I spent the next few weeks trying to win her back.

One day while I was staying over, a package arrived. Something felt off, and I discovered it was a morning-after pill. When I asked her about it, she lied and said it was supplements. Only after I confronted her did she admit she had been sleeping with her work partner—a married man with two kids, including a newborn.

I asked her to cut contact with him, and she reluctantly agreed. But weeks later, I found out she had simply renamed his contact to “LOVE,” muted and archived their chats, and they were still messaging and meeting. That’s also when I discovered the affair had actually started back in February, while we were still together and planning our wedding.

That was the moment I lost all trust in her. It wasn’t just the cheating—it was the constant lying and deception.

We later spoke to a mutual couple friend, and after hearing everything, they called her out for her actions.

**Now I’m stuck with three questions:**

1. Should I tell the wife about her husband’s affair?
2. If my fiancée eventually wants me back, should I even consider it?
3. How do I let go of not just the relationship, but the future we built together—the wedding, the BTO, and the life I thought we were going to have?

Edit: thanks everyone for chiming in! Appreciate the responses and helping me wake the fk up..

I think I’ll keep this as short and sweet as possible

When I was 14 I dated the “bad boy” we smoked weed, skipped school, had sex in the park. He didn’t really have any parent figures and I guess I didn’t either cause we were always doing whatever we want and had way more freedom than we should’ve at 14-16. Well some point in our relationship I made the immature decision to cheat on him and he took it very bad. He threatened my life, would bully me, told everyone he could about it and worst of all posted my nude picture all over Facebook, making fake accounts with my picture, adding my family and everything (peak Facebook era). Well that all changed my whole life and I became a hermit crab with very bad social anxiety cause I felt like everyone in the world had seen my naked picture and thought I was a cheating whore. It fucked me up to say the least and majorly affected my relationships and who I am as a person today.

We’ll fast forward 10 years and we somehow reconnected. He apologized and genuinely seemed like a complete different person. We started having sex again, ironically behind his girlfriend’s back. Neither of us wanted a relationship or anything and it was just random casual sex, most of the time drunk. It’s been over a year now since our on and off escapades that spanned over 2 years. We don’t talk anymore, not on bad terms or anything but he’ll still occasionally message me random months and ask how I’m doing. Although his girlfriend may have found out cause I’m deleted off socials now but I just wonder why my brain let me forgive? & reconnect with someone who gave me so much horrible trauma.