Friday, January 27, 2006

Have you ever held a gun to your head?

Have you ever held the gun to your head? Told yourself, "This is the end?" Closed your eyes, pictured your brains on the floor. Letting yourself awaken from the daydream. Gun still held tight by your pretty little fingers. The storm getting worse outside.

And inside I still feel like I want to die. You know you are going to pull it sometime. Why cant you do it now? You don’t want to feel pain anymore. You are stuck in a situation, you can’t flee yourself from. You remember those images you have seen. Why not take a walk in front of the on coming train? Why not take this blade to your wrist you have been hiding under your bed for so long? What is so wrong with taking sleeping pills and inhaling those beautiful toxic fumes? All these you have dreamed of tryingbut never actually attempted. Some could result in a gruesome aftermath. But you really want to just leave everything you have created everybody you have loved everybody who loved you in the past Fuck the positives. All the sad depressing things in your life has built up so much and you have no choice. Pull the trigger or continue living in agony. Such a horrible decision to have to endure choosing. You choose to pull the trigger. You cannot imagine what pain your family is going to have to live with. Maybe you should leave a note; letting everyone know it’s not their fault, they had nothing to do with this.

But this is the punishment you can live with... This bullet is all you've got left and you are anticipating the shock. You are stuck with shame and you do not want you're whole family to see your mutilated body So you think of a hidden place. A place where no one can find you. They say the serial killers hide victim’s in-between the walls so no one can find them. Should you shove yourself in that little space and carry on the same? When you are dead and gone, it will not matter what location you are in. Now your cold, fragile, frightened self creeps into the storage room in the basement. Where nobody goes; this is the best you have darling. This is where you will witness your last fucking breath. You hold the gun to your head, you are huddling yourself in the corner, shaking. You count to, two, three, you need some more encouragement. You contemplate that time you walked into your new classroom, and all the boys boo'd you. You think your ugly. Then you remember that time you're father saw you for the first time in over a year.

His first words stunned you.
"Let me see what you look like naked now that you’ve lost all that weight”. And now you want to crawl into some hole somewhere. Noone should feel like they don't belong. The people around you are mean.

Your head is blasted apart. Brain is thrown and drops neatly 5 feet away from you. She's gone. No more feeling. No more pain.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

The first cut was the deepest

Everybody is always telling me to get over my past and move on with my life. What they don’t understand unless they’ve been there is you can’t get over your past. It’s always there; a bad smell reminds me of his breath or body odor as he laid on top of me. The words ‘I love you’ spoken into my ear as he made me promise not to tell, now the words make me cringe and want to look away. I can’t repeat them back to the ones I now love, because they remind me a time long ago. Wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tight, now days it makes me want to vomit. On the street I see a man who reminds me him and I want to run and hide, but I know he’s been dead and gone for 7 years now. I still see him in my mind, I still hear him, I still smell him, I still feel him, so How in Hell am I suppose to just forget and move on?
Every step I take is painful.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Life Blows


I feel like I’m pushing an elephant up the stairs.

At the tender age of 12 I began praying to God to let me die.

I remember vividly how comforting the idea of dying was: I could go to sleep one night and just never wake up. I had no way of knowing that in order to escape by death, it would likely be necessary for me to have an active hand in my demise. I wanted to die, yet I had no real concept of suicide. All I knew was that I was hurting, big time, and that I would continue in agony until death intervened. My younger sister was only 8 years old that summer. We spent our time at the barn discussing what had happened to Dustin. To pass time we wrestled heavy bales of hay from huge stacks and place them in a way to form a small enclosed space that we could walk into. It was a place to hide, and at times be alone with your own thoughts.

I recalled how I was told by others that in a time of need all I had to do was call out to God and He would provide for me. One day, I felt I couldn’t take the way I was feeling anymore and cried out to God, “Okay, God, this is it…this is my time of need. Please help me to live with the way I feel. “Can you see me God? If you can see me, please help!” I shouted. “Whatever it takes, do it now.” “I don’t want to live anymore. If you can’t help me, please then just let me die.”
Inability to experience joy.

I rarely cried anymore. I didn’t have to. I was barely functional, plagued by waves of fear, an overwhelming sense of impending doom. I welcome death by other it accident or illness. I often wished I would get a terminal illness so that I would not have to deal with either life or death.

Psychopaths wear the mask of sanity

Some people believe there is a biological predisposition or faulty [brain] wiring, and others suggest that serial killers fail to bond during early childhood," Levin explains.

Levin says that most of them have suffered as children. "They are often physically or verbally abused, abandoned, adopted under terrible circumstances or violated by a parent and grow up with profound feelings of powerlessness," he says.

"From what I have seen, most serial killers don't begin their killing spree until their late 20s, 30s or 40, and that gives us a clue," Levin says. "It's not just childhood that creates these monsters, as most people who suffer as children grow up and become upstanding citizens. But for some reason, serial killers don't age gracefully."

Monday, January 02, 2006

Hi There!!!

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My Pig Pen

It's out back.
I named it depression.
Every now and then I go out back and wallow in my pigpen.
When I'm covered so deep and mud drips from my hands
I know it's time to go shower off again.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.

---Quoting Deputy757---
It should be illegal, but even shitheads have a right to express themselves.

The lucky one are not those who get out, but those who heal.

Suicide- The act of instance of taking one’s own life voluntarily and intentionally.
People ignore, deny it, and are shamed by the act. There is always fear and misunderstanding.
After a while, pain wears on us.

If suicide was the right thing to do why is it so painful to contemplate? Why is it so difficult to do? If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself, but to put myself back together again. At times I feel like I need someone who’s a psychologist, social worker and a cop all rolled into one. I need someone who’s aggressive yet tender at the same time.

Inside we are sad all by ourselves, but as long as we continue to have a distraction in our lives we will continue to live. When we are left alone the suicide thoughts gradually intensify until we can no longer stand the way we feel.

-We fail to measure up to those around us and feel we must punish ourselves.-

I made a bomb---I do crazy things sometimes and later I wonder why.

I wish I would never have to face another human being again. Inside my soul has become so cold that I hate everything. I now believe that death is better than my prospects for any kind of happiness. Each day I wake up and tell myself that I have one day less to live in this world. God had known of my struggles for years, but He still stood by watching as things went from bad to worse.

On any given day, some adult who is the victim of a dark past of child abuse may vent his or her pent-up frustrations on society or on those they may love.

At times I feel a strong urging to destroy what has caused me so much pain.

Even the most morally upright person harbors fantasies of forbidden behavior—of savage lust and primal violence. What’s different is their willingness to act on their darkest desires.

Sometimes I want to translate my sickest fantasies into fact. I often envision the most sadistic from of revenge. The sight of a cop would arouse thoughts of abduction, sexual torture, and then murder. The fantasies are strong. My perverted fantasies have reached an unbearable pitch of intensity. I have sadistic thoughts of dominance and degradation, perversion and pain. I want to render you unconscious, then translate my sickest fantasies into fact. I live inside my head, locked within my own bizarre, pathological dream world. Stepping over that line will fill me with an intoxicating sense of power, even invincibility. I feel the need to go out and now attempt to commit these crimes.

Unpopular speech is the foundation of the country.

Freedom to speak one's own mind.

Social rejection is more frightening than the seemingly remote possiblity of death.
Kids laughing at you.

More readily accept you into their group. Fit in where you can.
Teachers themselves can sometimes be the problem.

We create terror to help us understand our own fears.

My wish to die would sometimes only be a momentary feeling. Other times the impulse to end my life would last a few hours or sometimes a few days.

I never wanted to say anything after my father had touched me, because I didn't want to 'make trouble' for the family; enough was already going on. "Whose going to pay your brothers hospital bills if I go to jail?" Perhaps I should just run away and never be found again. Counted squares on the ceiling to keep my mind off what he was doing to me. ...I couldn't contribute to the division of my family.


My heart is beating hard in my chest, my stomach is quezzy, I'm sweating, sounds are distorted, feel dizzy...I want to throw-up.

The world is so unkind.

Do y0u find my behavior distrubing?

I like to taunt the police. Pushing the edge of defiance. When has justice been as simple as a rule book. We blindly put our trust in those of power.
You need to tighten up that bullet-proof vest.
Shooting police would be some bold shit.

Pain is the only trustworthy assurance that life goes on. After cutting myself, it felt like a wave of relief would flood over my entire body. I would feel only numbness as the blood flowed down my wrist. I didn't want to die, I just wanted to stop feeling pain. Need to feel pain to feel alive.
I cut----I feel relief..........1-800-DONTCUT

Yes I have issues.

Crazy, horrible, powerless, conformity, justifed, conflict, confused, escape, insanity, anxiety, unreal, loss of control, retribution

Some wounds can never heal.