LustingforNightmares

tumbleweed
Ad 2:
2014-10-04 14:22:55 (UTC)

Crazy Things


"The Echo" by Voxhaul Broadcast

Lazy afternoons will drive you out of your mind


October 4, 2014 Saturday 2:26 PM


Humans are sick. We're born sick. Why do we hide it so much?

Kids are bullies for a reason. We learn to be civil, but I mean, there's still somewhat of a thirst for other's pain.

We talked about this at Peer Leadership the other night. Okay, well, not really. One girl (whose name I could mention but won't) thought she was crazy because she wanted to hurt things.

She once did something to an animal that involves fire and rope. The animal was okay, though. She was talking about how she couldn't understand what motivated her to cause pain. During the incident, she was perfectly calm and she loves animals, too. So her question was, why did she do it?

I have a theory? She has told me before that she hates the pressure. Everyone says she'll go far in life and she doesn't like the pressure. I can't remember word for word what she said, so I apologize if it isn't accurate.

Okay, never mind. My theory was that she misplaced her anger but now it sounds stupid.

I thought I was alone, though. I have felt that calm, before. The one before the pain. What usually happens, though, is I hurt myself to make it go away.

Once, like four months before I went to the hospital, I punched my cracked mirror and broke it even more. I don't know if I was angry. I could probably go back in my entries and find out but I never like reading my own writing. Besides, in moments like those, words are not enough so I end up being very abstract.

I had a lot of fits of physical anger back then. I would say I can control it now, but I probably can't. I just haven't felt such intense anger for awhile. My dad had to hold me down, once.

Oh, and then there was the time I got mad, and then suddenly calm. During the calm, I used a razor to cut my wrists and then I sat there and watched as I bled. When there was a puddle, I made pictures with the blood and painted it onto my face.

I don't feel anything when remembering this stuff. I don't think I'm crazy. I think maybe I'm just isolated from the dark thoughts that other people have had. I don't know the crazy impulsive things they've done, and from the outside, they seem so normal.

I do know the stuff I did was not okay. I know that I have done bad things on purpose to other people, too.

What was the point of this entry?

Oh, great, I'm thinking about blood. Blood is such a pretty color. I have to go because my parents are being annoying (sorry, dad).


Ad:0