Confessions from our contributors and fans on “How Adolf Hitler Saved my Life”.


The hurricane winds, heavy enough to rip trees out of the ground as if by Kalki himself, blow through the night. I’m alone in my room. A cultureless, true-blue American boy, crying and wishing that he could die right then and there. This was my first true awakening, however in the stead of eternal truth, I had formed a blackpill.

It started around a February, when I had decided to try and learn German. Now, I was an edgelord, completely and totally; the next logical thing was to essentially larp as a Nazi. I ultimately considered it a joke; after all, I loved America and Nazis were terrible people who threw babies in fires at the bottom of smoke pits right in front of their mothers and family (That’s from “Night”, which our class had read earlier that year).

So I had started learning German. As a first reading I decided to buy an ebook of Mein Kampf for .99 shekels, but I didn’t read more than the first 40 pages or so before dropping it. Pondering on why I was attracted to German, I thought that, as an American, I really had no culture. I was always told the joke about White people doing nothing and how Blacks were cool and stuff. Now, I had always hated niggers but never spics until that year, and I didn’t even hate dunecoons until my awakening. I latched onto the German culture as I had some of it in my ancestry. My Grandfather identified himself as a German-American and his grandfather could speak the language.

I quickly became attached to the heritage aspect of that side, learning all about German history. I got the urge to pick Mein Kampf up again, and resumed my reading. I had recently moved to the windy location, and was surrounded by people I hated now more than ever.

I had gotten to about halfway through the first volume. I don’t know what really triggered the crying. Maybe it was the weather. But I know that I had realized by now that America had been on the wrong side of the war and that I was going to be a minority. The white and therefore Aryan race would be gone forever.

Blackpilled by myself, I really had nothing to do. Nothing to live for. Compound that with the Dylann Roof incident, and it appeared to me that no damage could be done against these Jews. The song “Voices in the Wind/Stimmen in Wind” was something I listened to almost every day.

School started up again. By now, I had found out Ironmarch and decided to sign up. Immediately in my first thread I was bombarded with questions on all sorts of things, and one of the first replies to my intro was Odin talking about Atomwaffen.

I was surprised, I had never expected this state full of spics and nigs to have Nazis in it; I was hesitant to say the least. I was let in almost instantly, and in a couple of months we met at a shooting range. I was in utter shock, he was not only an actual Nazi but a great guy himself and him being such a happy personality had such a profound experience on me. I could live a happy life in accordance with National Socialism. He showed me the book SIEGE when the group first got it. I had gotten the main point (action, not politics, is the answer) across within the first 80 pages, but it took a couple months to read the rest of it.

This began my kind-of-shitty skinhead phase. Since I was just a happy kid, I also always talked with everyone about Hitler. This is what I thought that I could do as a kid, unless I wanted to pull a Columbine – and I viewed those people as having no purpose in life.

The thing was, I was also beta and caused the look of NatSoc to be weak. The end to this shitty skinhead phase was that I found out I had ancestors from a different side than German actually die fighting for the Confederacy. I felt honored for once in my life. It inspired me to try and live for a true cause, combining National Socialism with the actual culture my ancestor had and become a man. To not be just some kid now, but a real man with a cause and goals to work towards. Combine that with the work of Evola on culture and America and I realized my part in the great work.

Since then I had joined sports, causing my body to develop into a better shape. I have had girls and not hated them with a MGTOW-tier passion, and a job for me to start saving up for total SIEGE. For the past couple of years I have accepted that I will die, but now I know that my life is for the cause of National Socialism. If I die it is spreading the cause of true Fascism, not some sacerdotal version of Skinheadism and Walmart Nazis with Soccer Moms.

To paraphrase, “I live again”.

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The sky rained down upon me with a fresh downpour of water, fresh off the southern ocean the wind howled across my face and the mountain in front of me reached above a misty fog, my mind burned with a desire, iron-will and discipline, the hooked cross burned in my mind as my lungs did the same, triumph of the will, the aesthetics of an era, the aesthetics of nature, excelled me through the pain of the mountain ascent, my legs become like bolts of lightening, excelling me through the stages I had trained for and wrought my body through for months prior. I was alive.

A year before I was buried, by the weight of years of nihilistic hatred and intolerance but of a kind devoid of love, of meaning, of discipline. I smoked weed, drank and ate, my body reflected this and I were 136 kgs in weight, the lifestyle pushed on our generation was of, do as what feels good, what makes you happy, succumb to temptation! In fact, live a life of temptation, lust, degeneracy! Oh yes, the time of living simply and having only what you need was gone, just do what feels good they said, I became dis-enfranchised with this world, I hated it, including myself.

I had always harboured a violent persona, fighting my way through school, I was a bully, I hated niggers, I hated everyone ‘equally‘, we were all born equal we were indoctrinated… I went to a catholic school and I hated God, Jesus the priests, faith was pathetic, life was meaningless.

I had always known of Hitler, national socialism, it were ‘hate‘, it offended people to draw swastikas and joke about the ovens, thus it drew me toward it, even if it were misunderstood youthful rebellion, ‘willpower‘, ‘truth‘ and ‘discipline‘ were devoid of the reason I drifted that way, it wasn’t until I watched ‘Triumph of the Will‘ and read ‘Mein Kampf‘, that my world came crashing down, the weight of years of degeneracy and nihilistic thought trains were replaced with truths, of a higher meaning to life and I weren’t going to succumb to the lifestyle imparted on us by the Jewish social revolution.

I crafted my body, to a more healthy 78 kgs, my mind, I had a yearning for knowledge and I began to love, I had learnt to hate but to channel it in the right direction, to love the race and what we have created, to the levels we can reach within us, for myself, how I was inside, I became on the outside.

People would ask ‘how did you do it‘ I would say ‘triumph of the will‘, is that a motivational film they would reply!? A guide? I would laugh, knowing the meekness of their character, brings them to ‘look‘, where in the nature of the strong, the fascist man, we don’t have to look, the power of the will is within us from the start.

By Anonymous
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I am young, I will not go into too much detail as to how young for anonymity’s sake, so all I will say is I am under eighteen. A few years ago I was very fat, I had no real friends and all I did was play video games. I was the typical American loser. I knew a guy, let’s call him S, he was one of the “cool kids“. He was known for doing drugs and being someone you do not want to fuck with. I really wanted to be his friend. One day he and my old friend J walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to hang out after school. I obliged of course. Now, at this time in my adolescence I really had no morals or beliefs, I’d do anything that would make me fit in.

After school that day I hung out with S and J and they offered me some weed. I had never done anything like that and I have always liked to try new things, plus it would help me ingratiate myself with them, so I decided to try it. I liked it. As I started to hang out with them more and more I started to try more things with them, I started to smoke cigarettes, drink, drop acid etc. It got to the point where I did nothing but spend all my money on drugs. Couple all that with my general nihilistic outlook and terrible obesity, and you have a real problem on your hands. It got so bad that the school’s scale didn’t accurately measure my weight because I was almost three hundred fucking pounds. Instead of feeling any sort of shame, I embraced it. I didn’t care how fat and pathetic I was, nor did I care that I had a dependence on narcotics and literally zeros in most of my classes. I didn’t realize it at the time, but deep down I hated myself.

The only thing I could say was partially a good quality about myself was my intelligence, but I didn’t ever use it. I was starting my life off in the worst way possible and that’s not what anyone in their right mind wants. After a year of living like that, I realized there was a problem. I was not happy. Luckily, my epiphany coincided with my discovery of George Lincoln Rockwell and William Luther Pierce. At first I listened to them because I had always been racist, and I thought it would be funny to hear how racist Neo-Nazis were. I was surprised to find that instead of humor, I found truth. Everything I heard or read was so enlightening, and I quickly became consumed with racial politics. This, however, did NOT save me. In fact it made my life worse. I was weak and couldn’t handle the truth. I didn’t want to live in a sick society because that would mean I would have to rise above it, and I would’ve much rather simply revel in the decay. It took a long time to make myself change. I knew the person I was should’ve been gassed, but I didn’t want to give up the only things that made me happy. The thing about doing drugs, drinking and binge eating is, it makes your life miserable. But you don’t want to stop because these things are the only things that you enjoy. After sufficient research and enough time to think, I decided that was done. That me was gone, and from now on I was going to focus on productive things to do with my time.

I decided to tackle substance abuse first as I felt like it would be easiest. After a lot of struggling, I had dropped my most of my dependence on drugs and found pleasure from reading, or drawing. I messed up a few times but by distancing myself from my degenerate friends I had cut off my supply and had no way to get drugs even if I wanted them. At this point I was halfway on the road to health, and it was almost summer.

I decided that I would be fit come September the next year. In actuality, dropping over one hundred pounds in three months is impossible, but at the time I did not know that. I started with just running, I hated it at first. I couldn’t run five paces without getting tired. Thankfully though I kept at it, and doing it made me feel good. It felt like I was making a positive impact on myself, nothing I had really felt before. I used NS propaganda as motivation to better myself, and it worked. It actually worked. Thinking about being superior to everyone else certainly was a good motivator. The inequality of the outlook really made me feel like a lesser being, and I hated that. I wanted to be the best I could be and I’d do anything to achieve those ends.

By the time September rolled around, I was sitting at about two hundred and thirty pounds, a good twenty to thirty pounds less than when I started. I may have still been a blimp, but I weighed less than I did before and I was proud of that.

It was the new school year, and I started to see less and less of J and S. They hardly even came to school at this point and they just seemed pathetic, I did not want to be anything like them. From then on my social life was dominated by politics, all I did was read or listen, constantly scrutinizing myself and trying to find things to improve. Fast forward a few years and here I am, I haven’t even so much as touched a cigarette for a year, and I am no longer overweight. I am in a committed relationship with my girlfriend, I had real, healthy friendships, and I am happy with myself.

I owe it all to NS politics giving me a positive outlook on life that drastically changed who I am.

By Anonymous
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I wouldn’t have written this article without the active pestering of the admin because this isn’t something I’m particularly proud of. Love it or hate it, you can blame him. I’m not mentioning any names to not to mix up any of my comrades. They know, but addicts are bad PR, even the ex-ones.

There isn’t really a clear starting point for my story or one event I could pinpoint that “caused” me to became a degenerate. I developed extreme chronic pains at twelve, and since kids don’t receive practically no pain relief, at least where I live, I started to self-medicate in the only way I knew, by drinking. Fast forward nine years, if you could get it here, I had done it and even if you couldn’t get it here I probably had done it as well. I didn’t give a fuck, I even racemixed a few times, I didn’t even care to rationalize my drug use, but hospitals being extremely stingy with any sort of pain relief gave a neat excuse. If you don’t wanna help, fine, easier to find better stuff from the streets anyway. If you use hard drugs every single day for years, you turn into a zombie and days blend together and events became hard to tell apart, I found myself asking people what month it was currently.

I’m not going to lie, some of the best experiences of my life were on drugs, and they were absolutely amazing. But between chasing those moments, I was pretty miserable, concentrating on finding something to do, anything, to make it through the day.

One of the few benefits of growing up like this is that you’re automatically aware of the acute race problem. The stereotype of a open borders pot smoking hippie might be true, but I’m talking about hard drugs here, muds were always, without fail involved, and everybody fucking hated them. I saw a friend of mine going from a non-racist to praising Einsatzgruppen for exterminating gypsies in the space of few months, a sentiment I wholly shared and share.

I could write a tome on all the shit I’ve had to witness from the non-whites, and I still wouldn’t get even close, but if you’re reading Noose, you too are probably aware of the race problem, so I don’t need to preach to the choir. Avoided death by stabbing by a gang of somalians neatly, had gypsies pull a gun on me, seen dozens of people end up in hospital for various reasons. The list goes on.

I had had a bunch of NS friends who were a massive positive influence on me, but for the longest time all they could do is poke me in the right direction. You can’t quit drugs unless you truly desire it yourself, that’s how you hear stories of people going to rehab ten times. My moment came when I had a good friend visit me and I binged hardcore for almost two months, and the comedown, well, the comedown felt like you had binged for two months. And that’s the first time I really questioned if there was any sense in this.

The entire country was going to shit, I knew this before the first invader centers opened with the grand mudflood. They just made the problem too huge to ignore anymore for the average person, but due to wallowing in the filth of the society, it had been obvious to me for a far longer time, and I knew only radical measures could turn it around. I couldn’t remain idle any longer, I had the desire to do something, help in any way I can. But I also knew that as a prime roping candidate, at worst I’d be useless, crippled by addiction and at best a massive hypocrite. I knew then that I need to kick the drugs before I got any business hanging out with real national socialists and actually being of any use.

Coincidentally a good friend of mine was also cutting down on drugs and another one had lost his house and had upped his drug use tremendously. We had a small two man support group, we just had to force ourselves to come up with something non-drug related to do, anything, even if it was fucking playing tic-tac-toe, anything else than drugs. At the beginning we couldn’t stop talking about drugs, literally. When your entire life has revolved around drugs for years and nothing else, you can’t even talk about anything else. Slowly but surely as I could lower doses there and drop something else entirely here and visit a friend and maybe only smoke a bit and drink a few cans of beer, things got better. And watching how my friend’s life, who started doing drugs even more just got progressively worse as mine improved was a great motivator as well. Now and then got calls about getting arrested, getting shanked by shitskins, gyppos robbing him, so forth, I was just so glad I had made the right decision.

At the point when I had successfully kicked addiction to anything else than opiates, I felt I was ready to contact the NS friends who I barely knew and ask if they’d be willing to hang out. And from there, my life started to improve in huge steps, as I could much more easily fill my weeks with non-drug related activities, even if it was just leafleting I’d be so totally up for that. I kept trying to hang out with the NS crowd as much as possible, it was a massive positive influence, if you have something smart to do, you don’t even think about drugs. And my comrades being generally all around hilarious people and joy to be around was just a bonus.

But, I was still hooked on opiates. They’re the best and the worst. There isn’t truth in television. Heroin – and other opiates – don’t really hit you with this orgasmic feel that leaves you incapacitated а la Trainspotting. It’s much more subtle, and it really makes it worse. They make the world seem like a great place, and like everything’s alright and the best thing is, you can function almost perfectly normally on them. Drive a car, go to work, go shopping, whatever. You couldn’t do this rushing or on psychedelics. And unlike with other drugs, there are no downsides, no comedown. Only the physical addiction if you do it for a week or two. And I had done them for, I don’t know, three years or so.

Leaving the other drugs really aggravated the opiate addiction. Even though I had decided to improve and kick the old habits, I allowed myself leeway with opis. I gotta eat them anyway, so is it really so bad if I take some extra, if I’m feeling really down? And since all my friends would be strung out on speed anyway, taking a small dose of opiates would remove the temptation to do any speed…if there’s temptation, you will find a way to rationalize it to yourself. That addiction had to go as well.

My comrades called and asked if I was up to some healthy wholesome hiking in a wintery forest the next day. I was feeling like shit, but sure I was. The absolutely worst thing you can do is stay home and do nothing, because that’s when the temptation strikes.

One of the good sides of opiates, they make you unable to feel cold, which is heavenly in the arctic circle. Only, as with all drugs, it’s borrowed time. The next day, I took only strictly my prescribed amount which is so laughable an amount compared to what I was actually doing I can’t even write it down. Practically it was the same thing as taking nothing.

Opiate withdrawals often get compared to a terrible flu, but it doesn’t really cut it. It really is borrowed time, all the pain the drugs took away comes back, with a vengeance. The walk can’t have been more than 5 kilometers one way. But the snow was above our knees, and the only physical activity I had done during the last year was running from the cops or the security, so I was not off to a good start. Every step was like jumping into a bathtub filled with sweat, and in -25C [-13F] it flash froze. I wished I was in the Bataan Death March, they didn’t have to deal with snow.

When I got home, I took one shower with clothes on and one with clothes off. Hadn’t promised to meet up with the comrades for several days, so I counted I had good time to get rid of the WDs and save the opiates. A few days in, I was afraid I’d die. A few more days in, I was afraid that I wouldn’t die. Got a call from a comrade if I wanted to attend, had to decline. Felt bad about it, but so far it’s been the only time I’ve had to decline due to drugs. I managed to kick the opis cold turkey, the fact I was too sick to crawl out of my house probably contributed as well. Not wanting repeat that nightmare was a decent motivator as well. After that for a month or so I was afraid to take opis even when I actually needed them. Goes without saying, but not having to go to bed wondering how you make it through the next day alone improves your life so much.

And the more time I spent with my comrades, the more obvious the differences between them and the degenerate crowd became. One of the biggest differences is trust. I would trust these people with my life, and if they say something, they’ll do exactly that. That’s something I have enormous respect for. In the junkie crowd, there was overwhelming lack of trust between everyone. Like little children, you couldn’t and wouldn’t leave them unattended for a second, I’ve seen a dozen junkies outdo a bulldozer in sheer destruction too many times, so I know better than that.

I’m not gonna pretend I’m a monk and say “I was lost but now I’m saved, heil Hitler“, I lapsed a few times, but luckily they were small missteps and I never again fell into total binging anymore. As I kept hitting the gym and attending hand to hand training, I got into much better shape and I could slowly cut down on the small amount of opiates I still ate. I was feeling better physically and mentally than I had, well, ever.

95% of my friends were junkies on some level, so my days were pretty much filled with punching the bag and punching it some more, to avoid temptation. The worst thing in trying to quit is that when you need drugs, there aren’t any, and when you DON’T want drugs, every place is just bursting with free drugs and people are giving them out left and right. At some point punching the bag and beating your dick just became a bit dull, and then I got a call from an old friend of mine. I rationalized I had been so good for so long I deserved to have a little fun, don’t wanna have a burnout here, do we?

Long story short, a couple of my friends and one junkie whore were having a chill night at one of my friend’s place, high as shit on speed and watching old comedies and spending the night. After I was done nailing her, we all hit the sauna. The girl left after about five minutes in, didn’t think much about it, she probably couldn’t take heat and we were having good time. Another five minutes in I took a break to grab a few cans of beer, and noticed she was gone. The speed paranoia kicked in immediately, and for the only time in my life I’m glad it did. Checked my jeans and noticed my wallet was gone. I cursed and quickly put my pants on and out of the apartment. My friend was living in a block of flats and I noticed she had taken an elevator, so I ran the stairs down and when the elevator doors opened, I jumped in grabbed her and demanded the wallet. Of course she lied, but pretty soon she folded.

After that, I remembered what I had left behind and why. This really highlights the pervasive lack of trust. Even your “friends” try to steal from you. I was a bit disappointed, in myself the most, but my goals were crystal clear again and the next months I spent rigorously improving myself, didn’t have the slightest desire to start using again.

Now, a year later, I can say I did the right choice. Obviously. I went through the shit, and now I’m reaping the benefits. I hang out with comrades who I trust, and who trust me, I’m in good shape, and I’m fighting for something greater than my own basic survival.

Hitler taught me how to rise above what you once were. I’ll end this little story with a quote from Rockwell, who described his ex-degenerate Stormtrooper, whom I immediately identified with:

The young man escaped the vicious circle of despair, boredom and degeneracy of millions of “modern youth” ONLY because he happened upon the spiritual life-preserver of Nazi love of Race and Nation before he sank forever into the putrid slime of modern spiritual syphilis. There will be many who will say that he could have been saved, perhaps even more effectively by religion. Fifty years ago, yes. But I have had five years of experience seeing these lost kids on college campuses all over America. And I can assure the reader that most of these young people are far too cynical and hardened to be able to open their ears and heart even for a moment to ACCEPT a religious approach. Start talking about religion to such hard-case cynics and you drive them further and further away, no matter how hard you try. It takes a new and SHOCKING approach, a dramatic and powerful approach to have any hope of making an impression on such lost, bitter kids. We have it, and it works. Millions and millions of the youth of all Western nations are sinking into various degrees of the misery and degradation of the young “beat” who came to our door in beard, blanket and sandals.” –GLR, White Power, Chapter 2 (Spiritual Syphilis)

By Anonymous
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