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Deleted member 29763
But I'm the reason why certain people do have it.
Throughout my entire childhood, I was a mean son of a bitch. Specifically, a delinquent. I enjoyed endlessly bullying my peers emotionally and physically while stealing whatever goods they had.
Even worse, if I suspected someone found out about my crimes and was stupid enough to report it then I would frame them. It always succeeded, much to my chagrin today. I was pretty much a sadist.
Now that I'm a young adult I feel absolutely horrible about the fact that I did all these things. Even worse is that besides my victims nobody else knows about them. My family thought of me as some sort of angel when in reality, it was a facade. I was a crook. So what did I do in order to seek redemption? I decided I would try to be a hero!
Oh yeah, I was a hero all right. Whenever I tried to "help" someone it only caused that person harm. No matter how hard I tried to be a good person (or in this case a hero) I always f*cked up and became something of a bad luck charm or nightmare fuel towards my friends. Even so, I didn't stop. In fact, all I had to do was STOP and none of this would of happened. Yet I was so wrapped up in my hero delusion that I denied I was doing anything wrong. I had carried on in my quest to help people. And for what? It was obviously a failure. I was seeing only what I wanted to see – recognizing only the facts I desired to support my own version of reality – my own truth.
I've come to the conclusion that I just can't do anything right. Everyone I know is terrified of me. Hell, I even heard one old friend say "make sure he doesn't try anything." I mean really, what the f*ck is up with that? Nevertheless, I'm just a bad person. The world is my personal hell because I'm doomed to repeat the same f*cking mistakes over and over again and never change. I can't remember the last time I had done anything honorable. My talents lie elsewhere.
Throughout my entire childhood, I was a mean son of a bitch. Specifically, a delinquent. I enjoyed endlessly bullying my peers emotionally and physically while stealing whatever goods they had.
Even worse, if I suspected someone found out about my crimes and was stupid enough to report it then I would frame them. It always succeeded, much to my chagrin today. I was pretty much a sadist.
Now that I'm a young adult I feel absolutely horrible about the fact that I did all these things. Even worse is that besides my victims nobody else knows about them. My family thought of me as some sort of angel when in reality, it was a facade. I was a crook. So what did I do in order to seek redemption? I decided I would try to be a hero!
Oh yeah, I was a hero all right. Whenever I tried to "help" someone it only caused that person harm. No matter how hard I tried to be a good person (or in this case a hero) I always f*cked up and became something of a bad luck charm or nightmare fuel towards my friends. Even so, I didn't stop. In fact, all I had to do was STOP and none of this would of happened. Yet I was so wrapped up in my hero delusion that I denied I was doing anything wrong. I had carried on in my quest to help people. And for what? It was obviously a failure. I was seeing only what I wanted to see – recognizing only the facts I desired to support my own version of reality – my own truth.
I've come to the conclusion that I just can't do anything right. Everyone I know is terrified of me. Hell, I even heard one old friend say "make sure he doesn't try anything." I mean really, what the f*ck is up with that? Nevertheless, I'm just a bad person. The world is my personal hell because I'm doomed to repeat the same f*cking mistakes over and over again and never change. I can't remember the last time I had done anything honorable. My talents lie elsewhere.