PerturbedLemon
New Here
I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m sane. Please don’t call any emergency services. I wanted to vent and I got that. Mods can ban me at their leisure. I wouldn’t want to read this.
I am twenty six. I am an abuser. I yell, scream, hit entities and cause damage. I have hit my mom. I have hit my dogs, I have hit my cats and I regularly hit myself. I was in a group home because mom sent me away for hitting her (this was years ago, ten at least. I’ve never hit anyone or anything (besides myself) since doing time at that home) I tell myself that I am unlovable. I am incapable of love. If I was, then I wouldn’t have to keep constantly apologizing for my yelling and screaming. An apology does nothing if you keep doing the thing you apologize for. For example, if your co-worker breaks one of your fingers in a press or something, yeah, it’s an accident. People are forgiven and we move on. What would you do if, every time you go to use that press, this guy breaks your fingers. Would you keep using that piece of machinery? Would you keep letting yourself get hurt by someone?
“I’m sorry.” means nothing
Don’t be sorry do better.
That’s what I tell myself every day, alongside “you’re stupid, you’re an idiot. You can’t do one f*cking thing correct you stupid cur. You should have been put out with the rest of the trash, or, better-yet, been shot with the other rabid dogs and left on the side of the road. No wonder your father left you. It’s no wonder you had such trouble in school! You will never be anything worth anything and if you make it to 30 without being dead or in some asylum then you’re just lucky. You are simply a drain on all the things in this world and, if there was anything for you to do, you would have done it.”
I am a feral animal. I scream, yell, throw horrifying insults around and walk around with this brain-dead idea that I can act like my dick weighs ten tones. I’m a huge guy so it’s easy to intimidate a little 70 year-old woman into shutting up. Oh, yeah, I do that too. My mom, the best mother in the world, who has been nothing but comforting, loving and kind, gets (I measured) 90+ decibel screaming in her face because she suggested to me that putting on a mattress-pad would be better for heating, instead of using a little heating-pad under my blankets. She works 80-hour weeks while I do nothing but leech off her. I am a parasite. The only thing that I can do is be like my dad and take and take and take and take. I make myself sick to look at. A disgusting blood-sucker that targets the elderly and week because I like having an unfair fight. I wouldn’t buck up to someone twice my size, no sir. That would end with me loosing and I NEED to win. Seriously, if I can’t do something in a video game, I give it two tries and then uninstall it. Same with everything else. I used to be good... I used to be soooo good and smart and always had an answer and was calm... I couldn't even keep my job, in Canada, at a dispensary. I literally couldn’t sell f*cking weed to people and it’s legal!!! I will never have a good job, I will never have a good life and I will never find someone to share my life with.
See, I have all this, all this wealth and love and help around me but I damage it every day. I don’t want to do this anymore. I scream and then I get so disguised and remorseful about it that I watch live-feedings or people being killed in horrific ways to imagine myself as the entity being killed. I want to die. I want to end this stupidity of some ransom terrorist hurting my mom and pets. I am a terrorist.
That’s literally what I am. I am a terrorist that terrorizes.
I am so deeply disgusted with me. If I saw someone doing, to my mom, what I do, they’d be in a stretcher and I’d be in cuffs. It goes beyond disgust. I look at me and I am repelled, by every fibre of my being. It truly makes me sick to my stomach that I have to share a vessel with this anger.
The best way I can describe it is as some huge flesh-ripping monster, sitting in the corner of whatever room I’m in, looking over every now and then to see if it can consume me once again. I want to collar this stupid bitch and break her back over my knee. I want to completely and utterly dismantle my anger, molecule by molecule. My anger, I call it a her I don’t know why, had cost me twenty years of my life, more friends than I can count, jobs, sex, my first kiss... All of it. I want to chain her up in a cage and beat her to absolute death. I want to grind the heel of a boot into the side of my anger’s head and scream at her that I won. That I was able to beat her. It’s not a delusion and she’s not “there” in the room but she might as well me. What do you do when you have a presence that can consume your body, living in your head? I want her to look like me and then push her up against a wall and carve her apart. All the while, she’s saying the thing that I said to her. To my anger. To this all-encompasing monster that grew from inside of me.
“I’m sorry. Please stop being angry. I don’t want to do this. You can stop at any time. Regain control! You have the power to do this! You are in your mind, you are a living person and you can regain control of this tail-spin jet at any time!”
I was doing the mental version of “nose-down, throttle-up” for twenty years and it has never worked.
I want this beast to understand that the only reason that I kept this anger around was because I didn’t know how to kill it yet. I want my anger to leave me. Even if it takes all of me with it, I want it gone and done.
I want my life to end, to end the suffering of those around me. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Have I not shown that I am willing to die to make change. What did the hospital do? Sat on their asses in their little nursing station. When I get angry and lash out, afterwards, I want to do more than kill myself. I want to feel every second of pain and know, beyond doubt, that my life is over. Just like with my anger. I want to be broken. I want it to be just so much that I know that I’m not surviving. I have nobody. I am alone and the only person who willingly stays with me, I abuse and scream at. I have no friends, I cut off my family and I have no hope. The only friend that I have had, over the years, last year, I wanted to go out with her. I asked her and her response was “No. You don’t want to date me.”
I could see though the lie. See, everyone, no matter about what, lies, all the time. I trust no body, no company, no nation, no person, no collection or anything else.
There’s an old proverb about a wise master telling an angry man to hammer a nail into a brick wall every time he got angry. He did this every time he got angry. Eventually, he stopped getting angry and so stopped driving nails. The master told him to do so for a week and then remove the nails after a week, started pulling the nails out and, when the wall had no more nails, he was enlightned.
The holes are still there.
Every single time I’ve lost my temper or yelled or screamed or said a mean comment or gotten back, I have made a hole in that wall...
But...
If the holes are still there, why bother removing them? If anything, I put the nails in at the right places, I could probably just hop over the f*cking wall and escape this nightmare.
None of this is okay, it all needs to stop or I need to go find somewhere else to live. I don’t feel like there is any other way forward.
I don’t know what to do and that is what scares me. Again, I AM SAFE!
I am twenty six. I am an abuser. I yell, scream, hit entities and cause damage. I have hit my mom. I have hit my dogs, I have hit my cats and I regularly hit myself. I was in a group home because mom sent me away for hitting her (this was years ago, ten at least. I’ve never hit anyone or anything (besides myself) since doing time at that home) I tell myself that I am unlovable. I am incapable of love. If I was, then I wouldn’t have to keep constantly apologizing for my yelling and screaming. An apology does nothing if you keep doing the thing you apologize for. For example, if your co-worker breaks one of your fingers in a press or something, yeah, it’s an accident. People are forgiven and we move on. What would you do if, every time you go to use that press, this guy breaks your fingers. Would you keep using that piece of machinery? Would you keep letting yourself get hurt by someone?
“I’m sorry.” means nothing
Don’t be sorry do better.
That’s what I tell myself every day, alongside “you’re stupid, you’re an idiot. You can’t do one f*cking thing correct you stupid cur. You should have been put out with the rest of the trash, or, better-yet, been shot with the other rabid dogs and left on the side of the road. No wonder your father left you. It’s no wonder you had such trouble in school! You will never be anything worth anything and if you make it to 30 without being dead or in some asylum then you’re just lucky. You are simply a drain on all the things in this world and, if there was anything for you to do, you would have done it.”
I am a feral animal. I scream, yell, throw horrifying insults around and walk around with this brain-dead idea that I can act like my dick weighs ten tones. I’m a huge guy so it’s easy to intimidate a little 70 year-old woman into shutting up. Oh, yeah, I do that too. My mom, the best mother in the world, who has been nothing but comforting, loving and kind, gets (I measured) 90+ decibel screaming in her face because she suggested to me that putting on a mattress-pad would be better for heating, instead of using a little heating-pad under my blankets. She works 80-hour weeks while I do nothing but leech off her. I am a parasite. The only thing that I can do is be like my dad and take and take and take and take. I make myself sick to look at. A disgusting blood-sucker that targets the elderly and week because I like having an unfair fight. I wouldn’t buck up to someone twice my size, no sir. That would end with me loosing and I NEED to win. Seriously, if I can’t do something in a video game, I give it two tries and then uninstall it. Same with everything else. I used to be good... I used to be soooo good and smart and always had an answer and was calm... I couldn't even keep my job, in Canada, at a dispensary. I literally couldn’t sell f*cking weed to people and it’s legal!!! I will never have a good job, I will never have a good life and I will never find someone to share my life with.
See, I have all this, all this wealth and love and help around me but I damage it every day. I don’t want to do this anymore. I scream and then I get so disguised and remorseful about it that I watch live-feedings or people being killed in horrific ways to imagine myself as the entity being killed. I want to die. I want to end this stupidity of some ransom terrorist hurting my mom and pets. I am a terrorist.
That’s literally what I am. I am a terrorist that terrorizes.
I am so deeply disgusted with me. If I saw someone doing, to my mom, what I do, they’d be in a stretcher and I’d be in cuffs. It goes beyond disgust. I look at me and I am repelled, by every fibre of my being. It truly makes me sick to my stomach that I have to share a vessel with this anger.
The best way I can describe it is as some huge flesh-ripping monster, sitting in the corner of whatever room I’m in, looking over every now and then to see if it can consume me once again. I want to collar this stupid bitch and break her back over my knee. I want to completely and utterly dismantle my anger, molecule by molecule. My anger, I call it a her I don’t know why, had cost me twenty years of my life, more friends than I can count, jobs, sex, my first kiss... All of it. I want to chain her up in a cage and beat her to absolute death. I want to grind the heel of a boot into the side of my anger’s head and scream at her that I won. That I was able to beat her. It’s not a delusion and she’s not “there” in the room but she might as well me. What do you do when you have a presence that can consume your body, living in your head? I want her to look like me and then push her up against a wall and carve her apart. All the while, she’s saying the thing that I said to her. To my anger. To this all-encompasing monster that grew from inside of me.
“I’m sorry. Please stop being angry. I don’t want to do this. You can stop at any time. Regain control! You have the power to do this! You are in your mind, you are a living person and you can regain control of this tail-spin jet at any time!”
I was doing the mental version of “nose-down, throttle-up” for twenty years and it has never worked.
I want this beast to understand that the only reason that I kept this anger around was because I didn’t know how to kill it yet. I want my anger to leave me. Even if it takes all of me with it, I want it gone and done.
I want my life to end, to end the suffering of those around me. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Have I not shown that I am willing to die to make change. What did the hospital do? Sat on their asses in their little nursing station. When I get angry and lash out, afterwards, I want to do more than kill myself. I want to feel every second of pain and know, beyond doubt, that my life is over. Just like with my anger. I want to be broken. I want it to be just so much that I know that I’m not surviving. I have nobody. I am alone and the only person who willingly stays with me, I abuse and scream at. I have no friends, I cut off my family and I have no hope. The only friend that I have had, over the years, last year, I wanted to go out with her. I asked her and her response was “No. You don’t want to date me.”
I could see though the lie. See, everyone, no matter about what, lies, all the time. I trust no body, no company, no nation, no person, no collection or anything else.
There’s an old proverb about a wise master telling an angry man to hammer a nail into a brick wall every time he got angry. He did this every time he got angry. Eventually, he stopped getting angry and so stopped driving nails. The master told him to do so for a week and then remove the nails after a week, started pulling the nails out and, when the wall had no more nails, he was enlightned.
The holes are still there.
Every single time I’ve lost my temper or yelled or screamed or said a mean comment or gotten back, I have made a hole in that wall...
But...
If the holes are still there, why bother removing them? If anything, I put the nails in at the right places, I could probably just hop over the f*cking wall and escape this nightmare.
None of this is okay, it all needs to stop or I need to go find somewhere else to live. I don’t feel like there is any other way forward.
I don’t know what to do and that is what scares me. Again, I AM SAFE!