When [[Banshee1067]] decided to [[emo|vent all over the internets tubes]], many a lulz was had.
Shattered glass all over the floor of my cousin's bedroom. I wiped up some of the
liqui from when I poured a full glass of Jack and Diet Coke on the carpet in disgust
at my clumsiness...my mind reels back to the psychiatrist who saw me when I was probably
seven...I remember seeing the file when I was maybe 11 or 12 years old, which stated that
I was "good-looking" yet "awkward", which obviously transferred to adulthood. I'll clean
up the shards of glass tomorrow...one more "punishment" for being who I am. Who the fuck
wants to be big and clumsy, esp. when certified as such by a professional?If I had a gun right now, I'd be thinking of killing myself. Inside of a week, I'll be
living with my dad, who has many multitudes of guns for me to do myself in with, most
likely unlocked. Shall it be a .306 rifle? My own little .22, which my dad bought me at
probably 13, cheerfully ignorant to my lack of enthusiasm for guns? Does he still have
that Walther P-38, the one he showed me at age nine or ten, when I got a Transformers
"Megatron", which transformed into the same weapon?Killing myself with one of my dad's guns would surely end his enthusiasm for guns, and
probably for hunting as well. I don't consider my dad to be some trigger-happy goon...
if anything, he's an inept hunter who rarely tags anything....but if I blew myself away
with one of his guns, I could guarantee that not only would he sell off his whole
collection, but if I stained even a wall with my blood, he'd probably sell his pathetic
little house, as well. I'd be just another addition to misery, a sign that He Fucked Up.
I guess I shouldn't feel too sorry for him. He DID fuck up, and never paid any price for
it, and I guess it would be somewhat satisfying to know I destroyed what's left of his
pissy little life as payback for the times he ridiculed and intimidated me, foolishly
believing it would somehow make me change my tune.Part of me likes the idea of shattering his life....of finally making him pay for every
disgusted remark, for every bit of sarcasm, for every 90-minute interactive diatribe
("ANSWER ME!!!!" still boils up in my mind, when I was silent during his interrogation).
Why shouldn't I make him pay with my life? Why shouldn't I fuck up the last ten or fifteen
years of his existence for the way he treated me? Granted, it probably will not change
the way he is, but why not make him suffer the ultimate consequence for his behavior? If
my life is worth shit, why not go out making him suffer forever, haunted by his past
actions? Why let him off easy? Why not spit bile and ruin the rest of his pathetic fucking
life, send him into regret and despair and maybe suicide as well. I remember several
years back, when my mom left him and he bitterly told me "I should just fucking kill
myself". My response was to tell him that if he needed me, that if he wanted me to fly
home, I'd do it on my own dime and tell work I needed to go home, regardless of the
consequences. That rotten fuck wouldn't sacrifice the same for me, so why not leave myself
a filthy mess in his own house, my brains splayed all over his living room? Why not use
my life to ruin his, to haunt him forever for his fuckups? Why let him off so easily,
especially when I can recall him rubbing shit in my face as a way to teach me, at age
five, toilet training?Why am I the good one? Why don't I just sacrifice myself to hurt him? Why not sacrifice
myself to ruin his life, to transform his peaceful, single-yet-dating existence into a
shuddering hell? Why? Am I pussy, too scared to do it to him? Do I really "love him" after
all he did to me? I know he's only nice to me because I'm not under his thumb. Why not
give him the ultimate punishment....the death of his first son? Something he can take to
the old folks' home, a memory to be repeated again and again. I'd make sure he knew he
was responsible...I'd make sure to leave a note or even, in a fit of melodrama, to write
something curt in my own blood, punctuating it with that final shot that erases my
face just as it erases my memories. Maybe I'd even point the gun at the back of my head,
so that I can turn my recognizable face into a distorted horror show for him alone to
discover, a symbol of all he did to me. A badly made doll, covered in blood and entirely
unsolvable...nothing that can be taken back.Such is my hate and resentment. I want to pollute the minds of those who laughed at me
and my problems, to spray them with my blood and brain matter so that they will never,
ever forget how they dismissed me. An honorable sacrifice....more honorable than going
on, more honorable than applying for these chimp jobs and going on interviews pretending
that I honestly CARE about these tinshit worthless jobs. Why not sacrifice my own life to
ensure that others have to live with the remnants?Granted, my father is far from the only offender. John pointed out last weekend that, by
moving to Kalamazoo, I have an "in" as far as my chief tormentor is concerned. Last I
heard, he was living with his parents, prob. less than two miles from me, an alcoholic
with a congenital liver disorder. Why not take him with me? If I'm going out, why not let
him join me? Why not go out with a bit of pleasure? Why not cripple him for life, just as
a memento?I doubt I would ever seriously entertain any such notion. I'd be more likely to kill
myself as "punishment" for being such a worthless individual, such an expendable piece of
shit. I have nothing to offer the world anymore, so why not kill myself and end all this
boredom and isolation? My death wouldn't mean any more than the faceless deaths we see on
CNN as we skip to the latest news on Paris Hilton.I know that I am insignificant. I know that I'm a joke. I know that I'm a worthless pile
of shit who only hasn't killed himself because he doesn't have the guts to do it. Part of
me wishes I did. I cannot stand living my life like this, like some big bald ugly scumbag
piece of human offal. The only thing that keeps me from smashing a glass in my face is the
possible consequences re. employment.Once again, I want to kill myself. No "professional" can stop me, esp. since I'm unemployed
and therefore not eligible for any kind of health care. It's not like my death would be
anything but another drop in the ocean, except maybe to my parents. My mom would freak out
and go to bed for a week, but that's not that far from how she normally is, the fucking
loser. I heard she tried to embezzle from more than one job she worked for....so how is
that supposed to reflect upon me? Meanwhile, my dad lied to his last girlfriend about
working for the CIA and other such nonsense, and myself, coward as I am, was "sympathetic"
and gently told him that he shouldn't do that again. With parents like that, why not kill
myself? An inept embezzler and pathetic depressive...Jesus...no matter how shitty my life
was, I never took off work to lie in bed all day. As unhappy as I was, I managed to
support myself anyway. Without any support from them, I managed to keep my head above water,
but realizing what pathetic wastes my parents are, it makes me feel closer to suicide.
Only fitting....with two losers for parents, why not off myself? Not like they ever gave me
anything... An insane part of me relishes the idea of my father devastated by my death, by
letting him know that it was mostly his fault, of inducing him to blow his own head apart
in guilt and remorse. The pig. He actually thought his abuse would somehow "spur me" to
self-improvement? Thinking of it makes me want to break a bottle and grind it into his
face.How can I live with such memories? Almost all of my past life has been loneliness and
depression. I still remember my father's mocking words when I returned from London:
"Oooooo...I'm too big...my shoulders are too wide...." The fucking wretch. That may have
been seven years ago, but I'm not fool enough to believe that he's nice to me for any
reason other than he's getting old. I'd love to throw it in his face, to make him pay for
his fucking sarcasm, for his brutality. Scary as it sounds, sometimes I think that nothing
would make me feel better than beating him to death, of making him pay for every remark,
every rebuke, every comment...of beating him till he's unrecognizable and then dumping him
somewhere insignificant...a waste of a human being. Part of me is afraid that such an action
would be the greatest moment of my life.It's so ironic, these bitter violent fantasies of mine, since my idea of happiness usually
revolves around kindness. Generally, it involves a child, a daughter, someone to be gentle
and understanding towards. Someone to make happy, not someone to bully the way my shithead
swine of a father did. The fact that he would bully not only someone weaker than him, but
his own son, makes me almost contort with contempt for such a pig. It makes me view humans
in general as predators, as people to protect myself from, as those to take an aggressive
stance towards.I wish the world were nice like I am. I wish people remembered to be polite, even to
acknowledge me when I thank them, but that is not the case. People are hogs, and I need to
stop viewing them as individuals with feelings. Better to see them as expendable and to not
care how they feel....after all, it's not like they regard me as anything more.I try to train myself to turn off that part of me, the empathetic part that cares how others
feel because I know how I'd feel. Better to view others as without feelings....after all, if
they don't care about how I feel, what other stance do I have but to numb myself, to view
them as rude children, to learn to not care if I'm rude to them. All I can do is desensitize
myself, to not care how others feel, to see them as objects or insignificant, their
"feelings" irrelevant. In a way, it's true, isn't it?I want to kill myself, but i want to take as many people as I can with me.
LOL WUT?
TL;DR
[[Category:Transcripts]]