Every day is a fight


Today, I’ve thought a lot about hunting.


It’s been coming a while and this week’s stress launched an aggressive period. I think and talk insane stuff. I think ONLY insane stuff. About killing. Detailed murders. Torture. I get more and more angry at people who try to “help” me. Who think they know best what’s good for me or what I should do. Who put me under pressure and try to control me.

Dad is coming to see me tomorrow. I hope everything’s going to be fine. I need to try to help him. I need to make him talk because that is relieving. I need to make him trust me. My duty is to take care of my parents and he needs my help.

My duty is also to protect mum from all bad, therefore I have to make sure that if dad chooses to blow his head off mum doesn’t need to witness it or clean up the mess. I don’t mind doing that if I have to, I know how to deal with it, the only thing I want for doing that is that I’m given full licence to sort out the problems caused by someone’s suicide, and I want that gun. I’m not giving that to police, you mad bro? Think how much money it brings, and the emotional value, and what a useful tool it is!

Hard times call for hard measures. I have a cold heart. There’s no difference of cleaning up rotten stinking catfood or skull splitters, jelly brain lumps and blood. You take a shovel, shovel it all in a bag and throw away. As simple as that.

If someone is desparate and can’t take it to watch his life to end, feeling constant anxiety inside, it’s OK with me. As a friendly favour I can even offer the deal that IF it happens to go wrong and the first bullet doesn’t kill them I’ll end their suffering. No prob.

We humans are nothing more or better than animals. Let’s say I estimate my knife can cut cow, pig or lamb tendons. They are no different from humans. How to stop someone from running away? Cut their Achilles tendons in both ankles, and secure it up with cutting the tendons at the back of the both knees.

To the outside I’m pretty calm still. Sit here and avoid successfully cleaning up which must be done tonight anyway. Like always I show no emotion. I don’t feel anything. Maybe just a little excitement. There are people who each time I have to think about them make me want to stab them. I’m restless, stressed, tired, bored. Ate normal pasta which is like eating nothing, doesn’t stay inside. Also ate a big load of blueberries with sugar. Maybe the only feeling right now is annoyance caused by itching wounds on my both wrists.

Sent my finished first book of my biggest fantasy story to 3 publishers. I could continue by sending one or two more files, but I’m not sure about that. Have more than one done, but only that one of the 13 year old girl’s point of view is actually finished so that I’m happy with it.

Must go clean up. Have to get it good enough done so that the only thing left for tomorrow is one time dishes and vacuuming and washing the floors.

My view is blurred and twisted strangely. I don’t see things on my right side, like my head was turned to left. Have to make me some more coffee. I slept badly. Took the sleeping pill but the cat from hell had to wake me up at least one hundred times. Washed laundry again too. Now must go. Be back whenever. Go read something positive and sane awhile.

P.S. Guess if anybody does a single thing about what I write here? Not. I have not gotten any actions from the psychiatric personal and nurses even when I have told them about my dreams about killing other people, the bloodlust, the incredible urge to hurt people. Nobody does a single thing. Until I really do something. Now how sick is that? Well, they say – and which is right and should be so – that they cannot force me into hospital or prison as long as I have not done anything. Nobody can punish you for your thoughts. But it’s an alarming sign when those people who certainly see the earliest signs of somebody going nuts and hear about possible mass murders do nothing to stop them from happening. There should be something that they can do. This sounds now like I’d be sawing on the tree I’m sitting in. It is. But it’s just another way to say “haw haw I’m smarter than you and I can go and kill people and you’ll not be able to even find out if I’m not telling you every single detail”.

Haw haw, you never know. I’ve been spinning lies like a spider her net all my life. The sad thing is how easily those lies are believed to be true, how easy it is to make someone think you’re serious about something – when indeed you’re only serious about the opposite, which in most cases is playing with people’s minds and lives.

5 Responses to “Hunting”

  1. I’ve been keeping a close eye on your posts lately and felt I had to say something, just so you know that it’s not like no one cares, like these morbid thoughts you have fall completely unto deaf ears. There’s little I (or anyone, as you said yourself) can do about them as long as no lives are directly at risk, but what’s always kept me from going forward with such ideas is I imagine it’d feed horribly anticlimactic once you cross that line. Nothing, especially the internal craving won’t have changed, you’ll see that the wheel of the world still keeps on whirling. It’ll just now go on without you (once the karma of your actions hits you), and no matter how much damage you do, you are still bound for oblivion just like everyone else.

    Is there anything you include in these thoughts about what you’d want it to look like, how you’d want people to react, a message of some kind? Is it the “I’m smarter than you” or is that just a bonus?

    • The “plastic baby” syndrome… I need to get back to that when I have more braincells active than now.

      What I want is to people to see me. See that I’m not just a useless chunk of meat, a mistake of nature. I’m something, someone. I want them to look at me and recognise my existence, for some people maybe to look up to me, and some negative attention is not bad either. My name doesn’t matter because I have never really liked it or wanted to have it, people can call me anything they want, I don’t care, but I want myself to be remembered. The knowledge of my existence carved into peoples minds so that I can feed from their fear.

      I have always felt like imprisoned, sometimes to a certain place, but foremost to this body, so being stuck in a cell is not really a giant problem that cannot be overcome. My brain and my thoughts can always be free and as far as my hands are not dead I can get the thoughts out of my head too.

      The message being “I’m not being walked over anymore, I’m not to be pushed around, I’m not a toy or a puppet, I’m not the weak child whose whole life was once full of fear and horror” and “just wait, nobody will leave without paying for his/her sins”.

      It’s springtime coming. The demon awakens.

      • I understand and empathize with what you aspire, the sort of proof of existence such an extreme act suggests. What worries me and, as I wrote, has had me stop short of executing such ideas is the ‘suggests’ part: there’s no guarantee that even those acts would bring catharsis. In fact, I believe there are strong hints towards the opposite. (This, incidentally, is why I love American Psycho so much: it describes precisely how apathy is all the world has in store for us, even if we embark on the most extreme of acts.)

      • Nobody is free from fear, and that is sure a sort of fear. I know already from experience that if I want someone to move his ass or even open his mouth I have to shout really loud. Nobody’s going to hear me if I try to be nice. After a few days even the biggest and most destructive things are forgotten. People make war documentations, build war memorials, Columbine massacre memorial, 911 stuff is still being discussed – but no-one really CARES. As long as it doesn’t happen to YOU, YOU don’t give a shit.

        At times I have to return myself back to earth and stay with smaller wishes. Maybe just destroying a few people’s life would be enough. Because the family and friends of a murder victim never forget. For THEM it’s real after 50 years even when the world would have long forgotten.

        BTW I never managed to finish American Psycho. I read it til halfway and then it just got too boring. ;)

  2. Yeah, AP’s a tough read to say the least. :) Still, I’ve plowed through it (at least) twice already and just today began reading it again. Then again I’m always into stuff that most people would just find mind-numbingly boring.

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