I have never told this to anyone. I worked as a dispensary technician in a pharmacy in Australia for nine years and every now and then we would receive a forged prescription for abusive medication. The only way we knew it was a forgery was because they were so poorly done. I always thought to myself that I could easily do a better job, so I was determined and spent an entire weekend forging one. It involved me replicating one of my own personal prescriptions in very fine detail from scratch using photoshop, I didn't want to lose quality by scanning or copying the original. The forgery was so identical to the original that even I had trouble differentiating the two, in fact the only noticeable difference was the doctor's signature which I had to learn as if it were my own so I could sign the prescription myself. I never used the forged prescription to illegally obtain medication and eventually shredded the forged copy. I just did it for the challenge and was proud that I was able to do it! I do still have the digital copy however as I didn't want to lose the work that I spent two whole days on.

I was originally waitlisted for grad school. Later that same week the dean of the school gave me this overly friendly phone call to personally let me know I was admitted. At first I figured they were just really friendly.

As it turns out, coincidentally, an executive of a large company who just happens to share my last name, though unrelated to me, made a significant donation to the school the same week I got my waitlist letter. Later I saw the donation mentioned in a newsletter. I never told anyone until after graduation. Everyone in admin was really nice to me there.

I ran the most popular latex webshop in my entire country. Had loads of customers, loads of good reviews. Couldn't brag about it to anybody because of the nature of the product. Everyone considers latex to be some kind of hardcore sm garment. If I would have sold normal garments, nobody would have cared. Selling latex on the other hand, I had to keep it quiet for various professional and personal reasons.

In 9th grade I got five people to sign over their souls to me on paper one signed with blood. I kept them in a jar until my mom found them and made me rip them up. I don't know what happens to their souls when you rip the contract, but I like to believe it is destroyed.

I was able to stop pleasuring myself for three months. Twice.

The reason I did it the first time was to help my dating life. I read somewhere that it makes you lose that need to seek out pleasure from women, and also something about pheromones. I got more confident, cleaned myself up, flirted when there was an opportunity, and I found women around me more attractive. I went on dates with two different women during those three months and it makes me proud to know that I can have an active dating life if I put in the work and effort.

For the second time, you know the saying that goes, "If only you put the same amount of effort and energy into X as you do with Y, you'd be more productive?" Well, I wanted to put that to the test. I exchanged it for pullups and pushups. In the end, I was able to increase my reps and I looked physically better.

I once helped my sister find her crushe's house from a photo of his garden he posted on FB so she could stalk him.

In the last 9 months my pay jumped $38,000 a year. Combination of changing companies and asking for pay rises. In less than a year I have doubled my wage. I've only been in my career for three years, but I feel for the first time I deserve what I earn. I worked really hard and I don't tell anybody other than my immediate family because I don't want to seem full of myself or gloating but it's the first time I feel good at what I do.

I once climaxed just from kissing.

When I was nine, I beat Super Mario Bros. on a single life. Still haven't topped that.

I sometimes talk to desperate strangers on the internet. All of the people in the worst spots, who are asking for someone to listen to them. I'm in no way qualified to do this, and sometimes I worry that I'll accidentally say something damaging. But it just feels too callous to do nothing. Typing a message only takes a few minutes, and I can always afford to give a stranger a few minutes of my time. There are just so many people who are suffering, and if there is a chance that something I say will help them, then it's worth a try.

A long time ago I anonymously opened up about something on the internet. I got tons of replies from people offering their sympathies. These people were total strangers who had no reason to be kind to me, but their kindness meant the world to me. I can never repay them, but maybe I can follow their example.

I have no umbrellas because I keep giving them away to people I see walking in the rain without an umbrella.

I have a hobby of writing to serial killers in prison. Prior to his death, I wrote Richard Ramirez and he responded to me. He used really odd parchment with stick figure children and a sunshine in the corner of the page. He said he was only responding because he liked my name. I was really proud of that letter.

I am a SPERM PRODUCING DYNAMO.

The wife and I went through fertility issues and step one was for me to get tested. An average "sample" will give you 40-50 million swimmers. A doc can make IVF work with as little as 2. My count was 160 million. This wasn't a one off fluke, and as we went through the process, more and more docs heard about me and it was always brought up as part of the chat. It's an odd genetic fluke, and not one you can bring up in conversation, but it's something I'm privately proud of.

I'm responsible for saving the lives of at least five different people during some time spent as a first responder. None of my friends are aware that I was a first responder at all. I don't tell them because I have PTSD from that time as well, and I don't want them to treat me any differently than they do now. I still stay in contact with two of the people I saved. I'm proud of them.

I sell my underwear online and make a pretty good payout. None of my friends know.

When my brother is having a hard day, I go to his tumblr and leave nice anonymous messages to cheer him up.

I had an email conversation with remaining members of the Heaven's Gate cult. I do actually tell close friends about it if there's nothing to talk about, but it's creepy still.

I am proud of myself for sticking my marriage out and always fighting for my wife, even when she isn't fighting.

She has bipolar disorder and consequently, extreme depression, suicidal thoughts, uncontrollable anger and lack of self-control; she is young but already experiencing the onset of very painful arthritis which adds to her problems and makes it so she can't work and has difficulty making it to her classes, and we have our fair share of issues.

Despite all this, the times that we have shared together and the love I feel for her and that I know she feels for me are things that I wouldn't trade for the world. She doesn't understand how proud I am to be with her, and others don't understand why I am with her at all, but I am truly happy.

I have 12 level 110 characters in WoW. All of them over 900 ilvl.

I am proud of getting off at the right bus stop or subway station because for some reason I have panic attacks in them, and it makes me want to just run for my life.

How many fanfics I write. I probably also will not tell my extended family I'm writing a novel until it is fully written and in the beta test phases. I'm honestly very proud of my work and the following my work has. People have made fanart, my bestie made an animatic for one, and one of my fics has over 100 followers, over 100 reviews and over 100 favorites. That's so huge to me.

I embezzled around 10k from the company where my boss was harassing me. It was HIS company of course. I couldn't have cared less about the harassment, it was almost like a pity that I let him get away with it, but he paid for it. I was 20 then, I'm 48 now.