Confession: I Poisoned Patients for Profit and Enjoyed Every Second.

To Whom It May Concern,

I’m writing this because I can’t live with the weight of it any longer. I’m a registered nurse at a private hospital, and for years, I’ve been violating the very oath I swore to uphold. I need to confess, and I need to do it anonymously because if my name ever gets out, my life is over.

I started small. A little extra pain medication for the patients who were… nicer to me. A little less attention to the ones who were demanding or rude. It was a power trip, I admit it. I was overworked, underappreciated, and this was my way of feeling in control.

But it escalated.

There was this one patient, Mr. Henderson. Old, wealthy, and completely helpless after a stroke. His family was always busy, always sending flowers and cards but never visiting. He was lonely, and I… I took advantage of that. I started “forgetting” his medication. Not all of it, just enough to keep him weak and confused. I would sit with him, talk to him, and he started seeing me as his only friend. He even started changing his will.

I know. It’s disgusting.

Then there was Mrs. Davies. Young, beautiful, and recovering from a car accident. Her husband was devoted, always at her bedside. But I was jealous. I envied her life, her looks, her happiness. So, I started making small “mistakes” with her treatment. Nothing obvious, just subtle things that slowed her recovery. I wanted to see her suffer, to see the light fade from her eyes.

And the worst part? I enjoyed it.

There were others, too. Patients I neglected, medications I altered, lives I subtly manipulated. I became a master of plausible deniability, a shadow in the sterile halls of the hospital. I convinced myself that I was doing it for the greater good, that I was weeding out the weak and undeserving. I was a monster, hiding behind a nurse’s uniform.

But now, it’s catching up with me. Mr. Henderson died last month, and his will… well, let’s just say I’m set for life. But the guilt is crushing me. I see his face every time I close my eyes, his trusting eyes, and I want to vomit.

Mrs. Davies is still alive, but she’s a shell of her former self. Her husband looks at me with suspicion, and I can’t meet his gaze. I know he suspects something, but he can’t prove it.

I’m living in a gilded cage, surrounded by luxury but haunted by the ghosts of my actions. I deserve to be punished, to lose everything, but I’m too afraid to turn myself in.

So, I’m writing this. A confession, a plea for forgiveness, a desperate attempt to unburden my soul. I don’t expect anyone to understand. I don’t even expect to be forgiven. But I needed to say it, to admit the truth, before it consumes me completely.

Please, keep my identity a secret. I know I don’t deserve it, but it’s the only thing I have left.

Sincerely,

A Damned Soul.