18:03
Sometimes I go for walks, take a slightly longer route or trail off when I'm finished with the main point of leaving the house to begin with. I take those times to think. I think often and hard, usually lost in my train of thought. My thoughts are often 'dark'; morbid, deranged, twisted, may I go on? It's almost rare when I think of happy, sunny, 'over the rainbow' peppy. I was 11 when the thoughts first started. I thought it was normal and shrugged it off like no big deal. It was because of those thoughts, my eyes were open to the fact no one liked me. They tolerated me enough to create that illusion. I was different, I shared some hobbies and interests as the 'norms' but not enough to take me out of the 'weirdo' class.
At age 12, the harder I tried to fit in the more I was alienated. I played alone, talked to myself; I was my only real friend. What started as a test became a way of self-destruction. I wanted to know which of my friends actually had the decency to care about me like how I cared for all of them. I banged my forehead on the table, over and over, waiting, looking for their reactions. I was only stopped twice because THEY didn't want to attract any attention from the teachers that doubled as lunch room monitors. They failed. I figured there was no place for me anymore. I lost all my real friends when I moved to West Allis and here, no one gave a damn about me. I would aim lower on the table, the edge, and silently bang in the same spot over and over. I would wrap my arms around my head, as if I was resting my head on the table, to hide the banging. I guess they knew what I was doing but didn't bother stopping me. There would be times I'd use the plastic fork and scratch, hard, down my left forearm over and over. When asked what I was doing, I'd say that my arm was itchy and it felt good (it actually did u_u) - it was a lie, rather or not they believed me is still unknown. My more obvious fits of rage was seen when I'd continiously stab the foam lunch tray with my fork. I'd start off slow, get a rush, and get faster and faster. When there wasn't much of a tray left, I was out of breath, it was almost orgasmic for me.
Ages 13-15 was when sex was becoming a pretty big deal at my middle schools. Almost all the girls were talking about it, others were thinking about how romantic their first times would be or how great their last encounter was. My dark thoughts sent me to a different direction. I had more of an interest to toy with people at that point. It was a bite or be bitten world and I was tired of being my grade's rubber ball. What I couldn't seem to escape from was the fact I was still getting bitten and it was taking a toll on me. My friends, peers, and teachers thought I was stupid and a waste of time, so allowing the darkness within me take control was probably the best idea I ever had at that time. I didn't swear, I was an absolute good girl. I was 14, I had enough of people, and had no patience for pretty much everyone - not like I shown it; blowing my cover was something I didn't want to do at that time.
There was this girl, someone who I knew disliked me and my gawd, I hated her, but she was dating my best friend and was always around. One day, my then best friend and I were walking home and she caught up with us and asked if she could walk home. I said, "No." She asked why not and I kept answering that I just wanted to walk home with my best friend today. He tried to insist that she walk with us and I could feel my blood boiling and said it wasn't going to happen. When asked why for the upteenth time, I screamed, "Because I fucking hate you, you're a stupid bitch!" I'm not really sure who was more stunned but I believe it was actually me. I felt awesome! I didn't regret hurting her feelings - she did a great share of that the year before. I guess I was the reason they broke up but it wasn't because of that, I guess she suspected that he had a crush on me or something like that - hell should I know?
It was after that when I let the darkness be shown. My outlets were art, I drew and wrote fantasies of what my darkness enjoyed. Writing about murder, torture, violent rape, I think I was pretty much gone at that point. Everyone was inferrior to me. They were nothing but rabid ratcoons that needed to be shot. 14 years old and hated people to that extent - sad huh? My personal style went from pathetic poor girl to Goth or dark artist as I liked to call it. mini skirts, tight tops that shown off my small devoloping chest, knee high boots, did nothing to my shoulder length brown hair. I still couldn't fight back, I was afraid of what would happen if I did, but I didn't show emotion. I went from carefree to careless. My 'I don't give a fuck' attitude did somewhat get me in trouble, but mostly with teachers since most were just as inferrior in my eyes as the dumbasses I went to class with.
The backlash of my darkness was the painful twinge of suicidal thoughts that still plagued me. I was still a nice girl, despite all that. I was into self-destruction again, not including the failed or half assed suicide attempts that my friends didn't really give a damn about, only stopping me when people would look our way, not like it surprised me. My destruction of choice was alcohol. I would try to drink the pain away with wine coolers and Mike's Hard Lemonade. Let me be the first to admit, it doesn't work. I am also a light weight and harder stuff burns like fuck going down my throat. I was never into drugs. I understand why people do it sometimes, but it wasn't for me. My thoughts were getting darker, my care for human life was pretty much dead at that point, and I wanted people to suffer. What I didn't really count on was my best friend was basically a sociopath and had me wrapped around his finger, basically since we started to become friends at age 8/9 (I was older than most of my class mates).
Most of me hated it, I had almost no will of my own, he'd beat me into silence, had full control of parts of my life. I was defenceless, scared, and willing to please him so he wouldn't hurt me again. Basically it was a sexless sadomasochist relationship from ages 13 to 16. He hated how I was blossoming. He hated that I was starting to have a will of my own, that I disobeyed him often. He tried to use my feelings for him to bind me to him to abuse, it worked for a short period of time, but when I became 15, it was useless. He tried to alienate me from our friends unless he was there to 'watch' me. The only hatred we actually agreed on was my alcohol consuption. He wanted me to be the meek and weak girl I used to be.
I was sorta aware of sadomasochism since maybe age 13, though I may have been 14 then. I only knew of the hardcore stuff, unaware of the other variations of it. That was my dark pleasure, my darkness had to remember that I still innocent in a sense of nature and heart, I had no desire to actually hurt anyone in anyway, but damn did I love thinking about it. At age 16, I was free. I was sick often from other illnesses and I went to a different school. I abandoned most of my friends. Other friends I wound up losing when I realized they were just as fake as the ones I left behind.
Now, as an adult, I love to explore where my darkness will transform me. I am allowing it to take over with a few conditions. I am a humantarian, I eventually grew to like the welfair for people, but that doesn't mean I actually give a fuck about people unless I want to. I also like some brighter colors but mostly have a 'black' attatude. It is dangerous to know what's in my mind. What people see as taboo or forbidden, I find exciting. The love of my life understands me and finds my darkness fitting to his own, thankfully he would never treat me like how my ex best friend did.
19:45
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