If there is someone out there looking out for us they would make sure we'd both be comfortable. But I'm not comfortable.
I wish I could take this intensity and manifest it into a physical being I could kill. Make it into something worthwhile.
But that's not me. That's not how I am. I hate to have that feeling, and I want to kill that feeling too.
It's all just wishful thinking though, I donät have it in me to do something so drastic.
And to rob something of the last taste of freedom a living thing can feel would be a monsterous thing.
When we die, I believe that parts of us that feel and see and hear will slowly start to dissipate.
Like your awareness will be reduced slowly from the person you once were to a much easier, simpler form.
You get to go back to the simplicity of being unaware. You won't know what is happening to you and that you're going away.
It might even feel good. It might be the best fucking feeling in the world. You might feel a euphoric blast of everything you ever wanted to feel all at once.
And to be overtaken by a feeling of bliss with the bonus of everything bad you've gone through fade away at the same time is something I long for.
Just imaginie that feeling of not having to live with yourself.
I spent 20 years of my life wondering what it would be like to die.
I wondered what it would take to stop feeling so bad all the time.
My dad taught me that my own emotions weren't wanted. My desires to become something didn't matter so long as they didn't fit into what he wanted.
So I became a ghost. The characature of his child. A canvas he could paint a football player onto, or a car mechanic, or someone who wasn't gay.
I would be a fun child to bring to the family dinners where I would sit and smile politely at guests asking me how school is going.
And I would say "Good!" with excitement because I knew they would say the same thing back to me.
But, I'm not an actor. I couldn't say "Good!", all I could say was "Fine." because I was doing just fine thank you, stop talking to me.
Stop looking at me. God it drives me fucking crazy thinking that their eyes judge me for being different when I didn't want o be here in the first place.
Why did you bring me here for everyone to tell me "you're getting skinnier." and "Eat more, get some meet on those bones."
And when I start eating more they say "Maybe it's time to go to the gym?" and "You've grown so big."
I hated them and I still do. I feel gross knowing I've hugged them when they came to visit.
And I hate that I'm still on their mind, forcing themselves into my life anytime they can.
It might seem extreme to say, but I can't wait for them to die.
Only so that I can move on with my life and feel untethered to people I concider evil.
My brother and I had experienced direct physical and verbal abuse by the hands of our dad.
One day when we were home early from school we were playing in our bedroom.
I was on the computer playing games and my brother was reading something, I think?
All I remember is him coming home being audibly upset over something, and we quiet down a little to hear what he's doing.
And when he comes into our room he looks at us, then on the floor where there were some clothes, some toys, things of ours.
And he says "I want you to clean this up now and when it's done, the floor should be so clean you could lick it."
So we start picking things up and putting them back into their drawers and boxes.
My brother was trying not to cry but I had already given up.
First I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and went around the room as fast as I could to keep my dad from waiting too long.
Then I grabbed the mop and some soap from the bathroom. I don't think I did a very good job, but it was the best I could do at the time.
I was 10, my brother was 12.
Finally, I ask my dad to come and inspect the room. To really prove I did a good job I kneeled down to the shiny laminate floor.
I pressed my tongue against it like he asked, and then I spotted a stain underneath my bed I hadn't seen before. And I started to cry again.
Ever since then I've grown distant from my dad, and I don't think he understands why. But I hope it eats at him.
I hope that every second he doesnt get to talk to me feels exactly like he made me feel every day.
I've tried explaining it many times over to really understand why I still feel haunted by it, but I always end up circling back to the beginning.
And the cycle of trauma just starts over, because there is no closure. I just keep thinking about it and spinning it slightly differently each time.
I think what I'm trying to do is justify why it happened to make it feel less abusive.
"At least he didn't do anythin worse." I say to soften everything. But it doesn't help.
I can still hear him yelling at me and the words he would say. Or how he would yell those same things towards my brother.
The anger was never meant for either of us, but we had to deal with it because he didn't know how to deal with it himself.
He's not my problem to solve though, and for hids sake I hope he's worked through everything he needs to.
And I hope he passes away soon so I can move on and do other things than to think about him.


Try my horror game.