My Friend Thinks I'm A Serial Killer!🔪 // Boxes
This past Sunday started out like any other. Waking up late, stumbling around through the minefield of shite on my bedroom floor from the night before so I can wee and having that first sip of Coke Zero. And the usual daily ritual of chomping on a cereal bar while I checked social media and email, replying to those who I need / want to. For the record, Jess and I have always had some deep, interesting and sometimes bizarre conversations, but this was a little out of our normal ball part of chinwag topics. Well, slap my ass and call me happy.
I laughed at her question. I thought it was funny until I asked why she asked it. I don't know why I wanted to know why she asked. When she gave me her answer back I felt kinda shitty inside. I know I have a problem with anger, but it's really not all that often that I lash out and hit someone. These days I mainly just throw and break shit, which is an improvement to putting my fist through someone's head. I guess small improvements don't count. No, no. Let's not take into account all the fucking self-control I exhibit! Jesus Christ! It would be so easy to let go and just stick that kitchen knife into the asshole complaining, 'This is too hot' or 'It's too cold.'. It all builds up, you know? And then I want to burst. Hold that thought, I'm getting off topic here.
I became concerned that she was asking because she was scared of me, but when I asked her why she even asked it, she said she was curious because of her psychology courses and whatnots she's taking at university. Part of me believes it, the other part is on guard. Why would this be asked, seemingly out of the blue? Now, I'm not sure where she is on her courses at the moment, and she could be doing the introductions to serial killers or serial offenders of any kind, but I dunno. I feel highly suspicious.
<Oh, the thing I killed was a squirrel. It kept pissing me off so one day I killed it. I was like 9 years olf. I was relieved when I did it. No more annoying chittering>
I explained myself to her, even though I didn't really have to. I don't know why I explained my pathology to her and I think it might have made things a little worse. My lack of a moral compass, soul or whatever you want to call it plays little to no part in my feelings of wanting to hurt someone. I live by my own set of guidelines, I'm not a weak-willed pussy who needs society to tell them what's right or wrong. I do whatever I want because I really just don't care anymore. I don't care about me. And why should I? No one else seems to. Seems a bit stupid to waste time and energy on something as trivial as caring. All it leads to is aggravation, in my own experience. I regret all that I explained to my mate. It felt like I was some kind of child explaining myself. It was messy and muddled. What was I looking for in explaining parts of myself? Was I looking for a confirmation that human relationships aren't for me? That I don't deserve them because I'm a monster? Or was I looking for acceptance regardless of what I am?
I explained that I like to be up close and personal with everything that I do, my work, my life. Everything. I like to dip my hands in everything, breathe it in, taste it. Consume it and have it consume me. That's a part of my problem some of the time. Can't ever let anything go. (Well I do, but it takes the longest time.) I explained the high that I used to get from doling out physical punishments. I was God in that moment. I held everything in my hands. I held them in my hands. I could feel their breath, smell their adrenaline and hormones, I could see the perspiration on their skin and the fear in their eyes. I told her of how it is an amazing feeling, that I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the feelings of power and dominance-replacing feelings that I lacked as a child and in my younger years as an adult. I was just continuing the cycle of abuse. I was made to feel powerless and small by my parents, other family members, my classmates and other adults in my life. I allowed myself to be steamrolled over and would take it out on myself. I moved onto cruel, secret acts of destruction of property, theft and vandalism. I moved onto hurtful bullying when I saw the opportunity. I seized power when I saw the chance. I'm no better, yet I do think myself superior. I've used so many different tactics to fulfil my urges and supply myself with the emotional validation that I need. I still have the needs to be validated, as does everyone, but they have morphed and became something entirely different. I don't need to crave the dominance and show it in a physical way. I've learned that I can do it in a sneaky, underhanded way with little to no effort and the payout is far more rewarding. Sometimes they don't even know that I'm deep in the caves of their minds, digging around, mapping out a new resort that I want to build.
Yes, I get angry, but I have self-control. I've learned not to act on the instinct of permanently defusing the annoyance. I've not done it all on my own, of course. Countless hours of psychological study has helped me to sharpen my control, to express and sooth these needs in non-destructive ways. Most of them have been self-taught. Bottling it up inside worked for a while until I exploded or it morphed into self-hatred and I ended up with more wounds than tattoos. I still experience the self-hatred when I let the negative emotions bottle up inside, but I'm less quick to self-harm these days. I've covered so many of the scars with tattoos. Once they are all covered under layers of ink, the chapter will be complete. Until then, I suppose I am still a blank canvas for the blade. I know my limits. My obsession has taught me more about human anatomy than uni classes on the subject. Before the age of 17, I'd learned where all the major blood vessels and arteries are, the depths of my veins, how much is too much. I'd trace the veins with my fingers and scalpels, amused at the thought that I held my life in my hands, although it was still inside of me. Whoever said that depression is anger turned inward really had some insight there.
There is one other reason I've become more focused on self-control. Him. The SugarSpun-Star Boy. I've never wanted a future. No, I never saw myself in having a future, but this time I do. I see myself in some sort of happiness, not that fake 50's shit they used to show on telly when I was a kid, nor is it that fairy tale shit they try to ram down your throat. I'm talking about a place where I'm comfortable with myself for some of the time. I don't want to do anything to risk that. That sounds completely selfish, but it isn't all that it appears. I too want to know how it feels to be the centre of someone's world-To show them that their life holds so much beauty and meaning. After all Star Boy has done for me, I couldn't commit an act of pain towards him or anyone because I know that would break his heart. He's the only one I've ever encountered who doesn't deserve a broken heart. I love him too much to ever be the architect of his destruction.
Humanity, something I doubted existed inside myself, is something that makes me want to try. But without him, the idea of a future would never exist. It is through his optimism and mystery that I want to continue on a path that will afford me to discover more about the unusual guy that's captured my attention and has began to tame the feral animal within.
BOXES
I became concerned that she was asking because she was scared of me, but when I asked her why she even asked it, she said she was curious because of her psychology courses and whatnots she's taking at university. Part of me believes it, the other part is on guard. Why would this be asked, seemingly out of the blue? Now, I'm not sure where she is on her courses at the moment, and she could be doing the introductions to serial killers or serial offenders of any kind, but I dunno. I feel highly suspicious.
<Oh, the thing I killed was a squirrel. It kept pissing me off so one day I killed it. I was like 9 years olf. I was relieved when I did it. No more annoying chittering>
I explained myself to her, even though I didn't really have to. I don't know why I explained my pathology to her and I think it might have made things a little worse. My lack of a moral compass, soul or whatever you want to call it plays little to no part in my feelings of wanting to hurt someone. I live by my own set of guidelines, I'm not a weak-willed pussy who needs society to tell them what's right or wrong. I do whatever I want because I really just don't care anymore. I don't care about me. And why should I? No one else seems to. Seems a bit stupid to waste time and energy on something as trivial as caring. All it leads to is aggravation, in my own experience. I regret all that I explained to my mate. It felt like I was some kind of child explaining myself. It was messy and muddled. What was I looking for in explaining parts of myself? Was I looking for a confirmation that human relationships aren't for me? That I don't deserve them because I'm a monster? Or was I looking for acceptance regardless of what I am?
I explained that I like to be up close and personal with everything that I do, my work, my life. Everything. I like to dip my hands in everything, breathe it in, taste it. Consume it and have it consume me. That's a part of my problem some of the time. Can't ever let anything go. (Well I do, but it takes the longest time.) I explained the high that I used to get from doling out physical punishments. I was God in that moment. I held everything in my hands. I held them in my hands. I could feel their breath, smell their adrenaline and hormones, I could see the perspiration on their skin and the fear in their eyes. I told her of how it is an amazing feeling, that I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the feelings of power and dominance-replacing feelings that I lacked as a child and in my younger years as an adult. I was just continuing the cycle of abuse. I was made to feel powerless and small by my parents, other family members, my classmates and other adults in my life. I allowed myself to be steamrolled over and would take it out on myself. I moved onto cruel, secret acts of destruction of property, theft and vandalism. I moved onto hurtful bullying when I saw the opportunity. I seized power when I saw the chance. I'm no better, yet I do think myself superior. I've used so many different tactics to fulfil my urges and supply myself with the emotional validation that I need. I still have the needs to be validated, as does everyone, but they have morphed and became something entirely different. I don't need to crave the dominance and show it in a physical way. I've learned that I can do it in a sneaky, underhanded way with little to no effort and the payout is far more rewarding. Sometimes they don't even know that I'm deep in the caves of their minds, digging around, mapping out a new resort that I want to build.
Yes, I get angry, but I have self-control. I've learned not to act on the instinct of permanently defusing the annoyance. I've not done it all on my own, of course. Countless hours of psychological study has helped me to sharpen my control, to express and sooth these needs in non-destructive ways. Most of them have been self-taught. Bottling it up inside worked for a while until I exploded or it morphed into self-hatred and I ended up with more wounds than tattoos. I still experience the self-hatred when I let the negative emotions bottle up inside, but I'm less quick to self-harm these days. I've covered so many of the scars with tattoos. Once they are all covered under layers of ink, the chapter will be complete. Until then, I suppose I am still a blank canvas for the blade. I know my limits. My obsession has taught me more about human anatomy than uni classes on the subject. Before the age of 17, I'd learned where all the major blood vessels and arteries are, the depths of my veins, how much is too much. I'd trace the veins with my fingers and scalpels, amused at the thought that I held my life in my hands, although it was still inside of me. Whoever said that depression is anger turned inward really had some insight there.
There is one other reason I've become more focused on self-control. Him. The SugarSpun-Star Boy. I've never wanted a future. No, I never saw myself in having a future, but this time I do. I see myself in some sort of happiness, not that fake 50's shit they used to show on telly when I was a kid, nor is it that fairy tale shit they try to ram down your throat. I'm talking about a place where I'm comfortable with myself for some of the time. I don't want to do anything to risk that. That sounds completely selfish, but it isn't all that it appears. I too want to know how it feels to be the centre of someone's world-To show them that their life holds so much beauty and meaning. After all Star Boy has done for me, I couldn't commit an act of pain towards him or anyone because I know that would break his heart. He's the only one I've ever encountered who doesn't deserve a broken heart. I love him too much to ever be the architect of his destruction.
Humanity, something I doubted existed inside myself, is something that makes me want to try. But without him, the idea of a future would never exist. It is through his optimism and mystery that I want to continue on a path that will afford me to discover more about the unusual guy that's captured my attention and has began to tame the feral animal within.
BOXES
I hate being squished into boxes that I'm never meant to be in. I wish they'd fucking leave me alone and allow me to be who I am, who I want to be and everything in between. They're so fucking cruel and judgemental these people who are supposed to be my family. As if they really give two shits about how I feel or how I am. It's like they sniff out that I'm happy and they have to start with hurtful remarks and comments. 'Oh shit, Dan's smiled three days in a row, better go drop a gender comment or tell him that top makes him look fat.' This shit is never ending. I keep running away and they keep stalking me. They honestly get off on trying to crush the few crumbs of a soul I still have into dust. Fucking twats all of them. And then Melfi makes fucking excuses for them, but I always have to be responsible for my actions. Fuck that and fuck her and fuck her tree-hugger ideas. How about some excuses for me? What about Dan? Am I undeserving in her eyes of this gift? Actually, I don't give a fuck what she thinks about me, I'm just sick of her defending all of the people that ram that barbed wire wrapped, steel rod up my arse every other day.
The only time I'm ever going to get any peace is when I'm fucking dead. Seriously. What's the point if they all keep stalking and hounding me? I wish they'd all just fucking die, which haha could point to the above portion of this blog. I hate them all, with every fibre of my being. If anyone needed a reason to drink or want to escape, these fuckin winners are it.
The only time I'm ever going to get any peace is when I'm fucking dead. Seriously. What's the point if they all keep stalking and hounding me? I wish they'd all just fucking die, which haha could point to the above portion of this blog. I hate them all, with every fibre of my being. If anyone needed a reason to drink or want to escape, these fuckin winners are it.
🔪LINKS🔪
Facebook:vhttps://www.facebook.com/anjathesickboy/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ichliebebillah
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ichliebebillah
I don't even know why I post the links, nothing ever comes of them anyway.
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