Oh God...

I have not much use for elucidation, nor a need to exposit my history as a man. But I feel as though I must at the very least give a brief autobiography so that context may be gathered. I was born a male, birthed by a poor, white Kansas woman. Created by the act two do when they are in love.. or are fools seeking temporary pleasure. My creation was the latter, and subsequently I was mistreated, feeling more like an outcast than an anticipated burden. To say my parents didn't care for me would be a lie and I am no fool to try and delude you from the truth. Both of my parents loved me dearly, but their inexperience as parents tended to tear themselves and myself apart. By the age of one my parents had separated, and not soon after my father had found himself another woman. She was a shrill wretch of a human being. So clearly caught up in her own nightmare that she would often confuse me with the devil. She seldom treated me with any more kindness than silence that was filed with petty words and a subtle seething hatred of me. Why I did not know, but I was the son that she may have never had. My guess was a misscarriage, leaving me as a constant remembrance of something she could never attain. Even after everything that happened, i wouldnt be suprised to know that she still did. Her consistantly negative attitude towards me throuought my life made me grow cold to her. Having been raised to know only frustration on the weekends i spent with my father. It isnt too bold to say that i hated them both. Especialy my father, who never once questioned the bitch. Allowing the berating comments about my mother and I to fly out of her mouth unscathed. It was hard even for the other one not to slap her mouth shut. Though thinking back, i do suppose that i hardly have any memories of her or my father for that matter. They never seemed to matter in the long run. Especialy not now, but in any case let us continue with this worthless introduction. My mother always worked, trying her best to raise me up to be a sophisticated young man. For the most part she succeeded, other than her inability to remove the only social stimulus i was alloud. I had no friends, and nobody in my family took any real time to be around me. For the larger part of fourteen years i was alone, and when i wasnt i was being berated. I grew to be a cold, and isolated teenager. Spending nearly all my time listening to music and playing videogames. Taking all the time in the world to do the only thing id ever found enjoyable. To be somewhere that wasnt where i was back then. Somewhere better than stuck poor and dying on a nameless rock in nowhere space. Why would i want to be anywhere else? In my mind and in the games i could be a master magician or a god. When considering the other possibilities that are, its hard to believe that what is atualy matters. I grew to unerstand myself better than anyone else could, and up until i found a few friends i was on the track for something wonderful. So much creative energy coming from a source that only wants to make the world better. That isnt possible though, not anymore.

My friends found me in highschool. One of them in particular found my unhinged sense of humor funny. He and i became great friends for the time being. But i cannot remember his name, nor even what he looked like past his height and skin tone. He was not important, not for anything more than a door way. He, and the other friend introduced me to a differend life. One far more free from lifes troubles than any other. Through a green leaf, empty bottles and crushed pills we entered new realities each night. Hoping that one time we could just stay there. Everything comes at its cost, and the darker paths lead even deeper once ones light goes out. After a few blurry months and numerous mid morning headaches i found myself... my true self strapped to a hospital bed with a tube coming out of my stomach, and my penis. The doctors told me i had spent the previous morning drinking alcohol. They told me that i had a blood alcohol content of nine percent and that i had struck my head on concrete hard enough to have killed me. The first hospital thought my brain was bleeding. This meant nothing to me, clearly i was alive. Mayhaps bruised, but a littly bit of alcohol poisoning and a minor head wound wasnt going to kill me. I didnt even have a hangover i was just frustrated with my restraints. The frustration would pass and through it i found clarity, and i swore to never again pass up on the gifts id been given. I was an artist. no. I was a god, hell i still am. My creative energy begn to spiral out of control, and it needed a target. Something to put it to work, and as my patience wore thin i looked around my world and over the next few weeks i found many things that i didnt know. My mother had all but given up on me. I was hardly ever home anymore, and when I did come back I said nothing and was clearly not actualy there. Up until I made a change for what she thought was the better. She was prepared to get me arrested in an attempt to "fix" my drug problem. Although I could see only love in her actions, and the relief in her eyes that I had changed. I was livid to think that my own mother would betray me. Send me to jail? The bitch thought herself above me, and that little monster of hers did too. I will admit that I lost many memorable moments in the few years in a daze. So much in fact that I didn't even know my own brother. A younger brother, only three years of age. To my surprise he was a stranger, and to my eyes he was a problem. Through the three years of black i remember one thing. Frustration. The frustration that comes from a younger being who doesnt know his place. He was growing up without discipline and frequently abused animals and other people. Including me, who at the time was only half broken. Who was weak, but carried a dark secret. I do mean to say that I was not in control of the body at this time. I was simply a side character in what he thought to be his game. I was a nuisance, something to be rid of. It would have worked out for him, but in a moment of weakness I struck him down and became the alpha. When we slipped and struck our head on the cold ground our mind fractured and left me with more control than he'd anticipated. His one mistake was playing a dangerous game. He spoke to me often, tried to learn about me and just when the timing was right. He trusted me and one night when he went to sleep, I stayed awake to test my resolve. It was August fifth, two thousand fourteen and I rose up from my bed and headed down the short hallway and stopped to stare at the thin wooden door. Frantic screams from within as the other woke up, trying desperately to take control of the body. His repeated failures became more rapid as I opened the door and slipped inside. Dead silence filled the room, I was careful to not shuffle the various toys that were layed out with reckless abandon. His bed was suspended above the ground by home made supports. My mother had taken a good deal of time to build this for the child. Despite his negative disposition she loved the child, doing everything to raise him right. As if id done this a thousand times I crept up on the bed. The poor creature didnt even have a chance to awaken before id grabbed one of his spare pillows and pressed I against his face. "no, please god no dont do this. Youre better than this..." I remember hearing these words echo from the back of my mind as I realized i had to push harder to block the childs air ways. So push harder I did, tears streaming down my face because of the atrocity I was committing. I heard the struggled breaths as his body went into emergency mode, kicking at me and pulling at the pillow. Trying desperately just to breathe calmly I snuffed out his life force. Over the period of two minutes or less his kicks went from the hard desperate kind to nothing at all. It seemed as if all at once his body stopped, and to this day I remember the agony I felt. I keep the scared exhale I coughed out as a reminder of my will, to never go back. But the act wasn't done there. Come morning my mother would find his body. Shed likely try to wake him, frantically screaming his name till she was forced to accept reality. This could not be allowed, and I headed into the kitchen. On the counter underneath the shelves we stored food in was a knife set. None of them too sharp to be good at their job. They would work wonders for what I had in mind. The time was two in the morning, and I loomed over my sleeping mother like some kind of demon. Holding all of her fears in my hands. She died in an instant and felt little to no pain. That is if you compare her death to the childs. In one move i drove the knife into her throat and pierced through to the other side of her spine. The knife severed her spinal cord, removing her ability to feel. She died fearing for her children, and never once had the chance to see my face before her paralysed body choked to death on its own blood. Ecstasy... that's the only true word for how I felt. The screams coming from within my mind that portrayed true suffering and the power I felt in my hands showed me only happiness. And as the voice in my head died I knew what I needed to do. I needed a friend.