Have you ever gotten scared of yourself?
I have real issues with my temper.
I flare up at the slightest of things.
I am prone to physical violence and shouting.
It is easier to snap.
It is easier to let the mask slip, overturn a table and slam them up against a wall and choke them until you can see the fear in their eyes and the submission overwhelm their previous arrogance.
Then you are right.
You are respected.
You are the boss.
It feels like having a switch in your head that you can't control.
It flips itself on and has to be wrestled back to the “off” position.
Anything can flip that switch.
Someone taking the mickey out of you.
A wrongly-timed smile.
A page that falls out of your book.
You might have been perfectly calm before that.
But none of that matters anymore.
Something in your head has flipped and there is a seething feeling, a dull rage that bubbles and boils.
You lash out.
Sometimes with words.
You hurl them to cut the person to size.
Sometimes with your fists.
Maybe a good beating will take the little punk's smile off his face.
Your hands tremble.
You feel a familiar tightening in every muscle in your back and your shoulders seize up.
You want to be provoked.
You want to have an excuse to lash out, to put someone in their place.
I have hit people.
I am not strong when compared to men but I am stronger than most of the girls I meet and far more aggressive.
The aggression is what takes people by surprise.
I don't like doing it – the rage is a by-product of a childhood of repressed emotion and the role-modelling I received which taught me that anger and violence are acceptable methods of expressing dissatisfaction.
It scares me because I don't want to become the very person that subconsciously passed these things on to me.
I don't want to look in the mirror and see him looking back at me.
Abyssum abyssus invocat.
It was pretty dumb and frankly, quite laughable after I realized what had transpired.
My younger brother and I shared a bedroom growing up.
He is a morning person and like a good-boy sleeps early whereas I am a night owl.
This lead to many, many fights — you know, to keep or not to keep the lights on kind of pettiness.
One night, as usual, he slept early.
I was still feeling pretty energetic and wanted to listen to music on my phone.
As he turned off the lights (bloody bugger always had his way), I decided to walk around the dark room while enjoying some A.
Rahman on my earphones.
While pacing the room, having been teleported to another world, thanks to the music, I turned around the corner and suddenly, out of nowhere, saw a face like this—
My heart was in my throat, drumming hard.
I let out a muffled yelp and jumped back thinking WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!
Within a moment, my profound dumbness dawned upon me.
That was no apparition.
That was ME.
My reflection in the mirror with the phone’s light shinning up against my face in the dark room had made me look like a fucking ghost!
I laughed so hard that I had to leave the room to keep from waking my short-tempered sleepy brother up.
Can you believe it?
Anytime from then on if I ever have days where the air of my geniusness is getting to my head, I remind myself of that silly night.
It sure helps balancing things off.
I got scared of myself when my girlfriend who was yelling at me and hitting me so hard I was having to defend myself and run to my room to try and get away.
I got me so mad at her lack of respect for me and how she was unable to control her emotions, that I did the same thing and lost total control over mine.
I grabbed her and screamed at her at the top of my lungs (I never yell at anyone for anything unless it’s my mom in extreme circumstances) and started shaking her to stop and shoved her out of my room which bruised her wrists and arms and caused her to immediately stop because I was scaring her since I had never acted like this before.
This made her retreat to her room with the door closed where she began crying, as any sane person would probably do.
Of course I did too and was immediately scared of myself for what I had just done and apologized as best as I could, despite the fact that she was abusing me even worse just minutes before.
Of course we made up later and are still living together, but for how long nobody knows.
Our lease is up on July 1st and it's unknown whether we will continue dating or even continue living together, but there were great highs and horrible lows in this relationship, but I regret none of it.
If I could continue it I would but sometimes two people just can't make it work.
EDIT: July 31st, 2018
It was obvious the girl I was living with at the time I wrote this was my girlfriend and a relationship with her was not going to work.
She had very serious father abuse issues from her childhood that were never fully dealt with and something she never wanted to get help with even with me urging her to.
She is now living with a man that was her College best friend that moved from Seattle to the Madison to be with her (she never seemed to think this was crazy and a little creepy as he moved back the second he heard we were breaking up and she needed a new roommate).
Now he is her boyfriend who will do anything she asks and I know behind closed doors she abuses him like she used to do to me but she knows he will never leave her even though she does not really like him in that way deep down.
The only reason I know all of this is because she told me after her and I slept together one more time after she moved out just as her and this guy started dating a few months after they got a new apartment.
I just read Jenna Brooks answer, and my answer is similar to her, just that I am a boy and instead of my mom, my dad used to hit me, for any reason he deemed fit.
Want to play games with your friend in the play ground? Slap No Games
Want to take part in extra curricular activities in school? Slap (Asked to not take part in any activity in school)
I was in Aerospace club in my 9th grade.
I somehow, made my school invited to an event organised by Air Force, where Scientists from Indian Space Research and Organizations (ISRO) were organzing an event for school kids to know more about there research, show some rokets and all, so I went with my school mates and the club teacher in school bus to that event, and when I reached home, I got a huge beating.
I am afraid, I don't want to become like my father.
I don't want to become a parent in my life at all.
What if I become like him?
Several years ago I felt like I had a very close brush with the edge of evil.
In me, not someone else.
Maybe I’m wrong, but it’s what it felt like.
I was going through a very bad time in my life especially with dating.
I was quite frustrated with men and just wanted to settle down and have a life again, a good life which I had before I had a bad breakup.
I probably was fairly psycho emotionally at that point and what I didn’t know at the time is that, in my late thirties, men and women were about as far apart from what they want in life as they’re ever going to get.
There seems to be a ‘relationship diamond’ graph where they are largely in sync in the twenties to maybe 30 or so, then grow apart, and come together again in middle age.
Something to do with hormones and where we are in life, not sure.
Anyway, one night I got blown off by one man too many…by his mother!!! And I just blew it.
I lost it.
I started raging and screaming and crying about how much I hated men and how I was going to start fucking them over big time.
Turn into someone really evil and horrible and make every man after that pay for the way they’d been treating me.
I mean, I worked myself up into a major rage.
I probably was drinking that night too.
Anyway, I plotted and planned and really, really felt like this was going to work, that this was going to happen.
That I would be vicious and cruel and rotten to every man I met, that I would entice him and then fuck him over any way I could.
I would be hell on wheels.
Cruella De Ville.
And then I began to ask myself, Would i really do this? I was contemplating, by my own definition, turning evil and sadistic.
I started thinking about it and it began to scare me.
I felt like I was on the edge of some invisible boundary and that if I crossed it, if even just for a moment, there would be no return.
So instead of planning further I called a friend and drunkenly told him what happened and about my plans.
We talked I think for three hours and by the time we hung up I was sober, felt better, and didn’t want to be evil anymore.
Today I’m a helluva lot better and I look back on that and see how much I contributed to my own problems, but it stuck with me that I felt just this close to turning evil, and I had never thought of myself as a bad person before.
I do think if I had not called my friend I might have crossed over that boundary and that it would not have been good.
So I’ve thought ever since: Every one of us could turn evil, given the right circumstances.
Maybe I’m wrong about that; but I do think we do have a capacity for evil that we don’t even know is there.
I am so, so, SO nowhere near that now.
For over an hour after midnight I stood, looking down my balcony non stop.
I wasn’t sad.
My head wasn’t dizzy.
I wasn’t out of my senses.
I was simply playing out the entire scenario of my suicide a hundred times with a thousand logical variations every time but the same ending.
I felt perfectly capable of climbing up the railing and stepping into the emptiness on the other side.
All the grief was engulfed by Prussian blue smoke.
It was unreal.
Everything was irrelevant.
I played out the entire scenario one last time.
There was no fear.
There was nothing holding me back.
No emotional ties.
I felt free.
Suspended mid air.
Halfway through a fall.
Then satisfied, I went inside and had a peaceful sleep.
I felt so brave.
I felt strong.
The knowledge that I could absolutely do it, gave me power.
Thereafter, thinking about suicide became second nature.
I thought, reasoned and didn’t feel anything for a long time.
I couldn’t connect with my mother’s hugs, my friend’s chatter and my sister’s laughter for days.
I get scared of myself every time I remember those times.
Thanks Mark for a2a.
This happened only once.
I was at peak of my career in Islamabad as Chief Engineer.
It was extremely heavy post; all sorts of responsibilities had made me overworked.
There were meetings, deliberations, presentations, discussions etc.
Piles of letters were left to be seen during late night and it was again same cycle next morning.
I was attacked by Bell’s Palsy without prior warning.
Practically I had no idea but I somehow had a feeling that my BP might have provided sufficient ground work for virus to penetrate and eat away the nerve on right side.
I was shocked.
The onset was sudden and slowly it became painfully noticeable within an hour.
I had to request for leave.
My ears were paining.
Eyes became watery.
I had to postpone an important meeting.
I first thought as if it was paralysis of a sort.
I felt fear and thought of the bitter consequences.
I COUNTED BACKWARD FROM HUNDRED TO SEE IF MY MIND AND BRAIN WERE INTACT, WORKING WITH COHESION.
After 3 days, I came to Lahore on weekend and sought MRI so as to confirm that every thing was working okay; yes, it was.
All is well when MRI says it so.
When I was a kid, a popular game used to be “ Chor (Thief)-Police”.
It's kind of hide and seek game.
I always preferred to be a thief so that when police would chase me, it would be good racing.
We used to play on full moons in moonlight.
The police (kids) got tired of us “thieves”.
When they could not find us, they started throwing small rock stones.
I got hit on my head and it was bleeding.
I could not know if it was sweat or blood.
My friends got scared looking at my head and face.
When I looked at my face in the mirror , my face was covered with blood and it was not stopping.
I looked similar to this :
Courtesy google , twitter:
I was frightened and thought I was going to die.
When my friends carried me home, my mother got angry over me and said “ Let your father come and beat the hell out of you”.
I was even more scared.
Luckily head was dressed and stitched, face was clean when my father saw me.
I did not play “Chor-Police” for 3 weeks.
Then I resumed again as “chor”.
When my anxiety, depression and OCD were all their worst simultaneously.
I would have harm OCD daily and suicidal tendencies that caused me to fantasize about jumping out of moving cars.
I would cry myself to sleep more often than not and pace my room shaking with sobs late into the night.
I walked up and down our driveway thinking of ways to kill myself more than once.
I sliced my hip open, hoping that the stinging pain would numb out the mental and emotional hell I was in.
I stole old pain pills and took them in escalating doses until I felt fuzzy and my anxiety went away for a minute.
I passively hoped that I would die.
When I got into a car, I hoped I would end up in a wreck.
I was in a very scary and dangerous place.
I was genuinely afraid of my own mind.
I didn’t think I would love to see my next birthday.
Thankfully I’m alive today because of an annoying therapist and a loving brother.
As I lay there in my bed my eyes are wet with the tears from the struggle in my heart.
“How can I possibly go on in life with such pain?”
I was a 17 years old transgender woman trying to please my parents by living as my biological gender.
Why did God make me this way, I may never know.
From the time I was 8 years old and my father had told me why I wasn’t a girl I have struggled with this horrible feeling of despair and hopelessness that I will never be happy and feel normal.
Puberty had destroyed my body so much that I felt I could never be myself and I would forever be trapped in this body that now I totally despised.
I had tried to end my life two years earlier from starvation.
I had even developed eating disorders that no matter how hard I tried to stop and couldn’t shake completely.
I was trying really hard to make a new start here at school, but the hopelessness just keeps following me.
It’s been two months now.
Winter is in the air and it is starting to get cold outside.
I had been in a semi-private room here at a small junior college in Oklahoma but my roommate had dropped out of school and now I was alone.
“I feel like I live a life behind a one-way mirror.
” I can see people around me going about their daily lives, but I am not present in it.
I’m just a spectator.
No one even notices me because all they see is their reflection.
“Is my existence significant?” “I’m already living like I don’t exist, so why should I continue living?” It’s one of the most frustrating feelings you can imagine because you want to be on the other side of the mirror.
You want to be like everyone else.
But all you have is this dull aching in your heart that never goes away and you just want it to stop.
I feel so trapped and overwhelmed that thoughts of my death start to flood my mind like a fantasy of escape.
“There is only one way I can be free from my pain and no one would care,” I cried.
“I don’t have the strength to face another day in this prison.
” I look over at the bottle of pills by bedside.
I could easily take them all and just go to sleep and everything would be over.
I can no longer resist the desire to be free and I give up and forced all the pills into my body.
I didn’t care anymore about tomorrow, only now is what matters.
I just wanted the day to end.
I wasn’t even tired but my heart was so heavy that I just have to lay down in bed.
I am at the end of my strength.
As I lay there staring at the ceiling I begin to wondering what it will feel like to die.
I close my eyes and start to drift into the darkness.
While I lay there I start to think about things in life I will miss.
Like the feelings I experienced from watching the sun rise early in the morning and the colors of the trees changing in the fall.
In the midst of my conflict and pain I start to see the beauty of the world around me.
I have been focusing so much on my pain that I had lost sight of what really mattered to be alive.
Suddenly I wake up and fear grips my heart.
I realize what I have done.
Several hours had passed and I try to get up out of bed but I am too dizzy and I start to fall back.
The only thought on my mind was to try and throw up as much as possible.
Maybe there is a chance I can undo my foolishness.
I try again to stand up and somehow I manage to stagger over to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.
My face is as red as a ripe tomato.
I lean over the toilet and force myself to throw up.
I drink several handfuls of water and then throw up again, and again.
I finally got to the point that I just couldn’t throw up anymore so I went back and laid down in bed.
My head was still spinning.
I had absolutely no strength left in my body and all I can do was to lay there in fear of what I had done.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
I woke up just in time to see the sunrise through the window in my room.
My body was covered in sweat and I was aching from the nightmare I had endured.
But there was something different about today.
It was like the sunrise had inspired hope in my heart.
I no longer felt more afraid of life than of death.
It was enough to carry me for many years until I finally managed to be free of my pain.
I was on my practice in the hospital and my uniform is white – and as I approached a woman to give her the medication she needed, I opened the canulla and blood just started going out of it like crazy – even though I applied pressure to prevent something like that.
I just started yelling for my professor to come and she helped me to take care of the situation and told me that it isn’t my fault -it just happens that a blood vessel popped.
As I was squatting, it directly ended up on my uniform and as soon as I went to the bathroom to wash the blood off me, I don’t know and I don’t know why but the amount of blood on my uniform and how it looked just scared me as soon as I looked into the mirror.
Maybe it’s a dumb thing but it gave me a mini heart attack.
(my uniform looks similar to this)
I thought I was bein’ scared of my brain comin’ out my head and stranglin’ folks with my spinal cord to suck out the Brain Juice!
There’s a scene in Fiend Without a Face, about 55 minutes in
Where the Doc’ does a bit of Telekinesis.
I was about 8 year old, and MY “Lightbulb Lit Up”
so I grabbed a big-ass dictionary, flopped it open on my bed while the Commercials were on, sat cross-legged so’s I’d be close to them onion-skin pages and “Focused, Daniel-San”.
Well I sat there and focused, commercials went off, watched the next segment, commercials went on and returned to focusing, commercials went off, watched the next segment, commercials went on, focused again, commercials went off, watched the movie, commercials went on, focused and the onion skin paper eventually started quivering – a corner lifted – I SLAMMED THE BOOK SHUT CRAWLED UNDER THE COVERS, PULLED THE BLANKET UP TO MY CHIN AND WAITED FOR THE BRAIN TO COME IN THROUGH THE WINDOW TO STRANGLE ME AND SUCK OUT MY BRAIN JUICE!
The Whole next Day, every door I opened in the house was ‘peeked around’ to find that Brain BEFORE IT COULD STRANGLE ME AND SUCK OUT MY BRAIN JUICE!
“As Luck would have it”, about that time, Dad brought home a Bill Cosby Album where he discussed The “Chicken Heart”
By the time that routine was over I felt like “an idiot” and came bed time I went to my room and told The Brain, “Fine – You want me? I’m goin’ to bed.
Don’t wake me up.
And somehow MY BRAIN AIN’T Been good enough to suck out the juices yet, and it’s been more than 50 years! But I got hope!
I used to be scared of myself and mainly my past self a year or so ago.
I used to be this kind of an egoistic narcissistic jealous person who never Liked any successful person, hell I breathed of hatred.
Then a beautiful girl happened to be in a relationship with me that was when I saw the true tantamount if my anger.
A moment I could be loving and the next moment I'd be fueling with rage i I never inflicted any harm to her but the thing with me was a self inflicting kind of aggression I used to beat myself up mentally over some stupid thing regardless of whose mistake it was I took the blame onto me and grew angrier of myself by the Day.
As the day was looming she broke up with me for other reasons.
You have to understand that no one other than me knew about what aggression I had.
I used to have social thoughts a lot before the relationship and during it she convinced me that life is too short youll die anyway and also that people care even if they don't shiw it.
i had reached a certain point where I couldmy control myself but then after the breakup I understood myself.
i spend as long as it took to understand who I am fearing that my laziness will prevent me from acting on it.
Today I am no more the same person I have minimal aggression and have a more rational perspective of life.
the main reason being I stopped fearing myself and understood myself to control the thoughts that were entering the mind
I was dead asleep at night and suddenly woke up.
I was thirsty.
Fun fact about me: I never leave my bed until it's morning; I'll sleep thirsty, I'll sleep holding my pee, I'll sleep through anything.
So yeah for the first time I wake up and go to my fridge.
I don't bother turning on the lights.
Now, the scenerio:
[I'm a great artist? Ain't I]
So I take a bottle out of my fridge, open the cap and start drinking.
Then out of the corner of my eye I see legs! Yeah, I saw someone's leg.
I was scared as hell.
I couldn't gulp down the water in my mouth.
As I noticed further I saw it was wearing my slippers.
Then I realized it was just the reflection of my own legs on the microwave from the light the fridge was casting.
I've never been more scared of my own legs!
My head snapped to the side from the effect and I involuntarily reached out to cup my own cheek.
Tears brimmed in my four year old eyes as the realization of what had just happened dawned on me.
“Mom, I’m sorry.
” I choked out a sob.
“I didn’t mean to-”
Her once pretty face twisted into an ugly expression as she tugged on the collar of my T-shirt and pulled me in close.
My eyes had widened from the sudden hostility staring back at me, and I remember wondering who this new person was and what they’d done with my mother.
“I don’t fucking care if you didn’t mean to,” she growled, tightening her grip on me.
“Do it again, and your punishment will be much worse next time.
You got that?”
I nodded, and she grimly pushed me away from her, storming back into my parents’ room and slamming the door shut behind her.
From that day forward, I grew a distaste for my mother due to my now underlying fear of her.
This situation began to happen repeatedly for the next twelve or so years.
I remember spending most of my evenings hiding under my bed from her, terrified of her finding me.
If I ever received a C on a test or quiz from school and needed it to be signed by a parent, I would force myself to stay awake until my father came home from work because I knew very well what would happen if my mother saw the grade.
I learned to memorize how to make my face look a certain way to appease her because according to my mother, I had a “bitch” face which was a valid reason for her to hit me.
Her other reasons for hitting me were also very valid.
Like the time when I accidentally spilled water all over my Halloween candy.
Or the time when I threw out an orange in the garbage bin, but hadn’t realized there wasn’t a garbage bag inside of it.
Or the time when we got into an argument while she was washing the dishes and she pointed a knife in my face to frighten me.
But who knows? Maybe I did deserve it.
I was a troubled kid, I’ll admit.
The point I’m trying to make though is that for ninety percent of my life, my mother used to slap me multiples times a day or week to the point where I came to expect it.
Now, by the time I was sixteen, I had grown to be an inch taller than her.
My mother, a petite girl, had become smaller than me due to her extreme dieting and excessive exercising.
I remember we’d gotten into a fight one evening over something minor and she’d demanded for me to give her my phone.
And for the first time ever, I’d said no.
She’d glowered at me, raising her hand and about to collide it harshly with my face when I did the unexpected:
I caught her wrist.
She looked at her hand.
She looked at me.
She looked at her hand again.
“You can’t hurt me anymore.
It was low.
It was deadly.
And if anyone had listened close enough, they would’ve been able to hear the threat hidden in there somewhere.
Her eyes had widened with fear.
The exact same fear that had been buried deep inside of me since my robbed childhood.
I had envisioned this moment since I was four, the moment where I could overpower her and our positions would be reversed.
I imagined feeling triumph, so superior, just like how I had assumed my mother always felt after hurting me.
But when I glanced at myself in the mirror later that night, I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.
My skin was seemingly tanner than it had been before, and my long dark hair was now shoulder length.
Gone were my once hazel colored eyes and instead to take its place was this familiar chocolate brown color:
I thought I was insane.
I tried to suicide.
My depression got the better of me.
I was afraid of myself.
I knew I could plan it well.
No one would know about it.
I wrote a poem so they would know what I thought.
This one was a month before I tried
My father is nowhere
My brothers gone
My mother is working
I’m all alone.
Alone doesn't feel right
Is someone watching me?
I need some comfort…
But she's all gone
No one but my brain
Where they come.
I’m on the edge.
And this one is from the day of my attempt…
I was happy.
I was happy.
Spiral of insanity,
My eyes are not my own.
Spiral of insanity.
My brain is getting burned.
Spiral of insanity.
Can’t you see I’m lost?
Spiral of insanity.
To all of those that I’ve crossed.
Spiral of insanity.
I’m sorry to all I' Will have hurt
And to those I’ will desert.
I’ve burned photographs and clothes.
I’ve thrown things, spilled all the water and made my room a mess numerous times.
I’ve pinched myself in different parts of my body, just because I liked the sight of blood.
I laughed when the back of my head was bleeding.
I’ve taken dozens of medicine pills within my reach, simply for the momentary pleasure of peace.
I’ve stood in the balcony several times, contemplating whether I should just jump off.
A couple of times, I stood on the edge of my terrace that wasn’t surrounded by anything at the time and even thought I’d be happy to end my life.
And somehow it was “graceful” in my eyes.
Some days I am just in my room doing nothing.
To people, it has always looked like the most “relaxing” life.
But I have always been in a battle with myself.
I’ve been in the bathroom banging my head on the wall, pulling all my hair, screaming, crying and just begging to feel okay.
There have been days when I’ve locked myself in the room, screamed and cried for hours.
There still are.
You’ve seen how actors use their power by accident on others or how actor stab or shoot someone and look at their hand, feeling like it’s THAT hand???
That’s exactly how I feel every time I ‘snap’ out of these situations.
“Who did that?”
“I did that.
Countless number of times, I’ve looked in the mirror and thought, “I want to erase that person’s existence.
” That person being me, of course.
Countless number of times, I’ve thought of myself as nothing but a monster.
Everyone is a bit scared of looking at a monster after all, aren’t they?
After 2 years, on September, I took some cold medicine.
I did not know what it was, I just took 10 of whatever I saw.
OH hell yes, I was scared of myself once again.
Yes,i get scare of myself.
Being a writer i need to be pacific but when your mind set remains off,you can’t offer anything peaceful.
One year ago i went for a drink in a bar in my hometown,i was upset so i got down by many drinks and i was that time i was carring an illegal gun,while paying the bill to the manager unfortunately my gun was droped from my waist and falled down.
Everyone was scared their by seeing that gun and they called the police immediately.
I know i was in trouble and the anger inside me burst off and i aimed the gun point towards manager’s head before i could do anything fortunately cops arrived and i didn’t commit crime.
Yes all the time
when I come home from school and most of the time end up screaming at the top of my lungs and swearing at my step mom whenever we get into an argument.
Which is common.
Then I retreat to my room and sit there thinking about cutting myself again.
Another time was when my step mom told me how too much vodka could kill you.
She left then to go to the store.
I was home alone.
I then proceeded to approach the cuboard where the vodka and other drinks like that where kept.
I sat with that bottle in my hands, thinking how easy it would be to just drink it down, even if it did taste nasty.
Then I would be dead.
After about a half an hour of thinking with the bottle in my hands.
after that time I realized how horrible that was and stuffed the bottle back and ran to my room.
Bursting into tears, I was really afraid of myself.
letting myself almost end it right there.
I was deeply afraid myself indeed.
This was in the 10th grade.
There was that one kid whom always decided it was a great idea to beat the shit out of my closet friend.
We’ll call her MC.
She was a petite girl, only about 5′2.
She wore these THICK black frames that are similar to those of Logan and Patton from Sanders Sides.
(Logic and Morality respectively.
MC and I shared 3 classes together.
Mathematics, Language Arts, and Science.
She was actually kind of cute, and I had a massive crush on her.
MC – me and Dave shipped it so hard).
JK, the other kid, was a bitter rival of MC’s on the debate team, her often beating him.
JK also was the son of our school’s principal.
So, MC knew reporting him would do know good.
Besides, JK was every teacher’s favorite student.
JK was exactly 5′7 and he was on the football team.
Last time MC tried beating this kid up resulted in a broken nose and new glasses.
(Also, he did beat her until the point she lost consciousness.
This has happened on numerous occasions.
MC often looked for me to protect her.
I was pretty scrawny for my age, and didn’t have a lot of muscle.
The only sport I did was fencing, but yeah.
MC and I often walked home together, because we both lived within close proximity to the school.
Usually, I would go in the McDonalds close to the school to get a hamburger along the way.
This is where the final incident occurred between me, JK, and MC.
MC had a love for cats, specifically Maine Coons.
So, I had looked into buying one for her.
Often times while in line, I’d be googling breeders and stuff like that.
MC also had something that she never liked showing me, but JK had seen it.
You see, MC and JK were at one point dating.
JK abused MC, so MC had left him.
And let’s just say, NO ONE leaves the King.
(His last name was King.
JK and his cronies (TG and HP) often came to this McDonalds as well, as JK’s older brother works there.
LK is defiinitely nicer than JK.
(lol bad spelling)
JK was beating up MC, like usual, while she screamed and cried at the back of the restaurant.
We normally met up there, and I was coming out.
When I made it back there, MC was laying on the ground and JK was rummaging through her briefcase that she always insisted on taking with her.
(Later, I learned said briefcases contained memos and papers from the divorce of her parents.
Why she needed them was unknown to me.
JK was a pretty stupid kid, so whatever was in those documents, he wouldn’t understand.
So, he shredded them.
Apparently, she also kept family photos and mementos in there.
Like I said before, why Collins?
I had enough of this shit, so I went over and grabbed JK by the wrist.
I wasn’t one to have violent tendencies or act upon them, so this was a first.
I knew that this wasn’t the best move, but it had to be done.
“Listen to me you piece of shit.
“Whatcha gonna do to me now, Mikey? Gonna call that bitch over there?”
He wrestled out of my grip and punched me.
I got some good punches in there, and by the time he stopped, my knuckles were all bloody.
JK turned around, so I kicked him in the shin and managed to knock him over.
I’m 5′5, he’s 5′7.
What am I thinking?
When he was down, I grabbed him by the neck and squeezed it.
“You listen to me, King.
He gasped for air while his two cronies fled.
“You don’t touch me, Collins, or her shit again.
Do I make myself clear?”
He was still gasping and his eyes were rolling into the back of his head.
Noticing this, I let go.
Staring at him, then Collins, I thought to myself.
WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?
The rest of the year, I only saw myself as a monster and chose to avoid MC, as she reminded me over and over of how grateful she was for me stepping in.
But, I broke a pact with her.
I lost her trust, but she didn’t know it.
I stood next to the counter, a bottle of my dog’s pills in hand.
It would be so easy to just end it all right there.
I was home alone.
No one could stop me.
I opened the bottle.
Pills poured out onto my hands.
I couldn’t save my reputation.
I’m a slut.
No one will ever take me seriously.
People have seen me near naked.
Pictures have been spread and I can’t erase them.
I’m a whore.
My parents will find out.
Word spreads quickly.
There’s no point anymore.
People have already found out just hours after the pictures were sent.
Boys have come up to me, asking about what happened.
I can’t come back from the decisions I had made the night before.
Those decisions have labeled me a slut.
They took a marker and wrote it across my forehead.
Everyone will know.
Everyone will see.
I snapped out of the daze that overcame my body.
My senses came back.
My brain started to work.
Instead of taking the pills, I texted my friend.
I asked for her comfort.
She showered me with love and affection and kind words.
She brought me out of the hole that I had dug myself and I’m proud to say that I didn’t give in to the burning desire to take those tempting pills.
And more than once.
But the worst time…
The worst time was when i found out my daughter had been dumped in the cold at my mothers on the porch by her mother.
You know how they say you see red? That didnt happen.
And came to myself 40 miles from home.
Knuckles white on the steering wheel.
A baseball bat in the seat next to me.
I signed myself up for some serious therapy.
Because at that time when i came to myself and realized what i had planned to do in blind fury…i had no problem with it.
And that scared me.
I was seriously considering permanent harm or wven murder of my ex.
And felt NOTHING.
Turns out it has a name.
This happens when your emotional state is so intense your mind “slides into a shell of itself” as my therapist put it.
Turns out it happens more often than people think.
And its considered a fairly reasonable response to the kind of situation i was in.
But it still scared me that i coupd feel such anger.
Everyday I wake up not being able to know whether or not blood is going to be spilled on my hands.
Deep down inside of me I feel is something hard to control.
I look into a mirror and see only a costume, but hidden away in the shell is the real monster.
Everybody is afraid by themselves at one point, for most it is a phase, but for people like me it is a constant battle of when I will show my true colors.
Some days I was so close to killing some of my friends.
They thought I was messing around, but someday I worry that someday they will see that I am a wolf in sheep's clothing.
I don't know whether I have a faked sense of humanity, or there is no humanity in me to begin with.
And someday, everything will go out of control.
Sometimes when I write a story I tend to be a little bit too dark, like for example in one particular storyline I’ve had my character turn into a character who is evil due to a hex/curse and half-way through the second half he comes close to trying to turn his best friend evil as well.
And even worse, he even does it to the point of basically robbing them of their humanity by making them unable to control themselves and makes them a monster just like him.
And said monster in particular? The Hessian Horseman.
Yeeeah, that upset more than just a little to the point that I was too afraid to even consider continuing on the storyline since it got much darker later on and I honestly did feel like I had just killed someone’s character and that I had almost killed my own character as well.
I had to change the storyline so my friend’s character gets cured.
I had gone to visit a friend at his workplace.
He went to pick some stuff outside and was left alone at his office desk.
I hadn't noticed a medium-sized mirror just beside his PC.
(I have always wondered why a man would keep a mirror in an office desk.
Unless he frequently forgets how he looks like).
In the middle of browsing and perusing the office, I saw a stiff face looking directly in my eyes as I turned my head.
Shit! It was my own reflection but I didn't expect it.
It caught me off-guard and I was pretty shocked.
I have never been scared of myself like that.
So I'm always conscious of my surrounding not to scare the shit out of myself again.
After a very bad breakup, I had a rebound relationship.
It was a mistake from the start because he was one of my best friends.
I just wanted to ease the pain of memories by having the same memories with someone else.
Needless to say, it was a disaster and in the end, I lost my friend as well.
He didn't know what I was doing and I suddenly realised that I have lost my ability to "care" about someone else's feelings and happiness.
I was hurt so badly, that I didn't care about pain any more, mine or others.
That was the day I got scared of myself, of the monster I had become.
I am still not sure if I have recovered from it.