Seriously, some of you folks might not want to read this.
Normally I'd write this in my LJ, but I don't want to share this particular part of my mind with those people who are closest to me. They wouldn't believe me. Or even if they did, they wouldn't think it's something to get worried about. Or even care . . .
Anyway. I have to put this here because I can't trust anyone around me to not take it the wrong way. Or to ridicule me. And if any read this who knew where I live they wouldn't understand. Damnit, I'm an adult, and shouldn't be accountable for anything I do/say/think/write but that's not how society works. At least not yet as it is now. And I can't not write it down. I need someone to see this and say something, but it can't be someone who'll try to help me.
I used to be a normal person. I was actually the type of person who did nothing wrong, I was the most moral of people. Strong character, responsible, and honest. If you met me now, just normally, you'd say that's who I am. That's because I am that person, at least outwardly. My goal is to help people, is to be nice, is to better the world we all live in. But that's the outside. I used to be that way through and through, to my core and beyond. I saw in myself nothing else possible.
But hey, nothing ever lasts forever.
I'm not sure where it started, but I know that it probably began when I made the first big promise of my life. That was a promise to myself made about seven years ago. That was a small thing. I broke a bone in my foot, the big toe actually (and I shattered it into about 12 peices, compounded). Needless to say, I was crying (being 14 and crying is kinda . . . wussy for a guy, at least then) and I looked around me at everyone fauning over me, and decided I would never be hurt again, physically. I wouldn't ever cry.
I kept that promise. But that's not the part I should have been worried about. Physical pain is nothing compared to emotional pain that can build up over time. For about 5 years, I let it build. Well, actually it was about the time I was 16 that it all boiled over. Before that though I had gone through a rough, viceral time. My depression was all consuming, and while many teenagers go through a time of self-doubt and self-pity, my period lasted longer and plumbed deeper the dark depths of despair. I started cutting, as well as contemplating suicide. The entire time, no one showed any signs of caring about me, and I went further down that spiral into nothingness.
Not many people know about it that live around/with me. My brother doesn't even believe it. Then again, he didn't pay too much attention to me. My mom probably has no clue that I was even depressed. It's not her fault though. She has to work hard. And I kept it all hidden, as I was afraid that what I was doing would get me punished, or worse, ridiculed. Eventually, through some miracle, I pulled myself out of that hell I'd placed myself in.
But I wasn't unchanged, or even complete. My mind wasn't where it used to me, everything about me had changed. During my dark years I had delved deeply into arcana. I spend years studying demonology, vampirism, wiccan, alchemy. Everything. I'd always had this fascination with the occult and odd, and I had fed that hunger for years, but this was something that seemed an answer to me.
You have to realize though. Before this I was an innocent, as innocent as a child can be at least. I was the one everyone picked on, the one who stuck up for his brother to keep the big kids off him (although they usually just teamed us and got us both) and I was the one that everyone thought would be a good 'Christian/Catholic'. So the occult was kinda banned in my house. The fact that I had this fascination was kinda taboo . . . not that it stopped me. I read everything I could find and it warped me. In my darkest moments I found places in my soul that shouldn't exist. Hatreds and desires that aren't normal. During that time, who I was died.
And then I broke down.
I remember what sparked it. A cat that ate at our house which we were trying to tame was hit in front of our house. I found the body less than 15 minutes after it happened. Now, the cat hadn't been that friendly, but it was an innocent. Merely a fuzzy-brained animal.
But when I went to school that day, I couldn't get it out of my mind how something so innocent, something that didn't hurt anyone could be killed by unthinking people. That actions could overcome all our efforts with no resistence. And I lost it in the middle of the hallway in school. I started crying, I collapsed and sobbed. Somehow I made it to the guidance office and the school psychologist. We talked, and I think I was pretty much dazed at that part. Talking from someplace that I couldn't reach consciously. I was wasn't in control at that point. I was floating free.
A week later, my grip on reality completely reassurted itself and I wasn't who I was. I said goodbye to depression and moved on. And I haven't looked back. But there hasn't been anything for me in this life since. Even love can't dispell the ghosts that haunt my mind. Today I experienced something which drove me to write this. To spill my guts in a fashion that seems all to vain.
I realized that I still harbor the pain that I felt. It's not gone, merely latent. With all my efforts to be a good person, I still hate with the same fierceness, I still despise life and all that it symbolizes. I want to kill, maim, and destroy all that everyone else has ever worked for. I want to look at the universe and laugh at the absurdity of it.
Where did this evil come from? It moved into my soul and made itself at home, and it's welcome.
Whigh Community Member 
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Community Member