The fact a monster as vile as myself exists is surely stunning evidence that there is no such thing as a loving god. Day in and day out, all I see inside my head is death, pain, gore, murder, torture, and all thoughts obscene and extreme. These are the thoughts I fall asleep to almost every night. You'd be horrified if you stepped into my mind for just one minute. I want to die. But I was not always this way. I remember days when I was optimistic, happy, kind, and social. I wanted friendship. But I've changed. I post and comment here every now and then on my main account, but I'm using a throwaway for this post because...I dunno. Perhaps in the deep recesses of my black heart, the final bastion of goodness cries out for compassion. I had the day off and felt like getting this off my chest. I'm including the events I have a hunch are relevant to why I'm such a bastard. This giant wall of text is how I became a monster.
I wasn't born from Satan's sperm or anything like that. My birth was like any other, with crying parents, excited grandparents, and all that shit. So why bring this up? Because when I was born, my parents were faced with a decision, one that would not effect them, but would greatly effect me, and they chose the wrong one. But I'm not going to tell you what this decision was, because it took me 18 years to figure it out, and I want you to experience my life in the order I experienced it. If you're one of the few who feels the way I do, then maybe you've already guessed what that decision was and can see where this is headed. I was my father's first child, and my mother's third. For both of them, I was their first son. I lived a sheltered childhood growing up in a literal crack-den, because my parents are poor as shit. I had no friends or social interactions before school, so going to school was the first time I really began learning about myself and about the world. One of the first things I learned about myself was what a romantic I was, of course I didn't know the word at the time, but you get the idea. I remember even having a crush on a girl as early as Kindergarten for chrissakes. I was such a sucker. Only problem is it's hard making friends when you're the weird kid who smells like drugs and dresses like shit. I was able to find some, though.
Despite my poor upbringing, I had rich neighbors. There was one family in particular we'll call the Walsh family (none of these names are real). The Walsh family had a son a little older than me named Jesse I hung out with a lot. He was a bit of a dick, but it was worth it because he owned tons of video games and also because of his older sister, Kelsey. I had a huge crush on her until the whole molestation thing soured my feelings. Kelsey was eight years older than I, and she could tell I was into her. Every now and then, she'd blow me a kiss, call me 'prince', or something like that, and I'd get that warm fuzzy feeling inside. Seems innocent on its own, but that all changed one fateful autumn afternoon when I was 8 years old. The parents in the Walsh family were each in high paying professions that took a lot of hours, so Jesse would go play sports after school, but Kelsey preferred staying at home to study by herself. None of the neighbor kids were around to play with me, so I went up to the Walsh house to see if someone was there. I cringe to type what happened next. Kelsey was the only one there, and she invited me in. I asked her if she wanted to play outside, but instead she just said, “No, but c'mere. I wanna show you something REALLY cool.” Those were her exact words. She leads me into her bedroom, sits me down at the computer, and shows me what I didn't realize at the time was porn. It took me a while to realize that what I was seeing was sex. My parents had had “the talk” with me, but I never knew people had sex for pleasure or what it really looked like. Kelsey started touching me through my pants and encouraged me to do the same to her. When I left an hour later, she threatened, “You can't tell anyone about this. Our parents will be REALLY mad at you and me if someone finds out, so don't, okay?” Exact words. And being the big, smart, sixteen year old high school student twice my age, I trusted her. Now, if I were smart and told someone, that'd be where the story ended, but confusion, fear, curiosity, and my stupid feelings drew me back to Kelsey. I think when most people picture child molestation, they imagine rough, violent rape. But my experience was one of masterful manipulation and was...affectionate for lack of a better word (sorry I don't really know how else to describe it). And obviously it evolved into things more graphic than touching through pants that I'm gonna spare myself from detailing. The bitch would lie to me the whole time that she loved me and would use my feelings to guilt trip me into doing shit I didn't want. “But don't you love me?” “I'll love you forever if you do this for me.” Also shit like, “This is why no one likes you.” “Don't be such a loser.” Cunt. Even though disgust and violation eventually set in, I stupidly kept going back. I was so confused and curious and wanted answers, but more than that, I wanted her to love me back. And I stupidly believed every proclamation of her love. Feeling like the cutest thing in the world was juxtaposed with feeling gross and disgusted. Feeling violated with feeling loved. I guess my parents never were suspicious because it's normal to hang out with neighborhood kids, right? Right. They also trusted Kelsey. I think she reminded my mother of her two daughters from her previous marriage. And what kid wants to hang out in a crack-den all day anyway?
In a twist of fate, Kelsey left for college early after almost a year of this shit, and I never heard from her since. I guess she was real smart or something. There's no such thing as justice. Bad shit never happens to bad people, only good people. And that was it. I felt simultaneously relieved and sad at her departure. But after a while, I just stopped thinking about her. It wasn't until I was eleven that new feelings about what I went through popped up. I hated what she did to my body, I felt gross, hurt, sad, self hate, guilt and regret, but most of all I felt pure, astronomical hatred. It eats me up inside knowing I won't get justice for this. Puberty hit me harder than a nitro powered freight train, and as I started exploring my sexuality, I hated how I was aroused by kinks she had previously acted out on me. I've tried to get rid of them, but it's like they're fused deep into my brain. I felt tainted, like my sexuality wasn't truly my own. I know the stereotype of a molestation victim is a person who is terrified by everything sexual, but rarely is the opposite outcome talked about where you become a hyper sexual person with several of the most extreme kinks. Needless to say, I'm someone that sex is important to. I've always wanted answers about why she did what she did, and I've heard everything from pedophilia being a disease to being an unconventional sexuality, but I've never seen an answer that satisfied me. Why did this happen to me? Isolation came next. I never told my parents because the idea of having any sort of conversation about sex or sexuality with them makes me cringe. Nor did I tell Jesse or his parents. Instead, I scoured the internet for answers on what to do. Quickly, I found my plight dismissed, told I was lucky to be abused by that bitch, and ridiculed. But that's just the internet, right? Surely, my friends wouldn't feel the same. Most of the few friends I had ridiculed me when I told them. They told me I was lucky and that I should've liked it. Because she was a conventionally attractive high school girl, so surely the problem was with me, right? I left the friends behind who rejected my plight. In the end, I was left with only two good friends. One was a dude named Casey, and he was the first person to actually listen, but we've never talked much about because of how clearly it makes him uncomfortable. We were the type of friends talking serious with is hard. The second was a girl named Isabel. She was a cynical misanthrope, and the first to actually have a face to face conversation with me about this. During this conversation, she said to me, “But you're still you.” And those words changed my life.
I thought so hard about what Isabel said, and she was absolutely right. I lost control for a while, but in the end, I was still here. I was back in control. My body was the same. It was still mine. The fact Kelsey did this to me didn't matter. I was in control. My body was not ruined. So much of the violation and sadness I felt faded to the back of my mind all at once. It was an incredible feeling, like seventy thousand pounds of death had been lifted off my shoulders. That night, I shed a tear for the last time. Ever since, I've been physically incapable of crying, though sometimes I wish I could for the catharsis. But there was one thing that remained: the pure, unfiltered, aggressive hatred I have for that cunt. I've grown up since I was eight, and nowadays I'm over six feet tall, muscular, and I've had over a decade of training in martial arts, so if I want to hurt someone, I'm terrifyingly capable. And that's what I want. I want to obliterate Kelsey. They say vengeance is an eye for an eye, but I value my body a helluva lot more than I value my enemy's. Vengeance never actually goes that way. It's more like ripping her left arm off and using the jagged, exposed bone to gouge out her eyes. I would love to stab her guts out, to use a knife to violate her body the way she violated mine, to kill her the way she killed the version of me that was happy, social, optimistic, and has never heard of r/SuicideWatch. She'd be so helpless and weak at my mercy, just like I was back then. But she wouldn't dare show her face near me. She wouldn't dare if she knew the bastard I've become, because there's no way a short, skinny woman like her would ever be able to put up a fight against me. It would end with me picking off bits of bodily pulp stuck to my knuckles. The sound of her crying and begging would be music to my ears, because whenever I think of her, my blood runs a helluva lot colder than hers or anyone wasting their time by reading about my stupid ass. I wonder what kind of man I'd be had I never met that cunt. Guess I'll never know. Maybe I sound like a monster for wanting to turn that piece of shit into a pink, slimy mound of waste, but you know what? All those years ago, it was Kelsey who seemed like the monster to me. And that's why I don't want eye for an eye style revenge. To me, my eye is more important than her eye is to me. Maybe you can't relate because you don't know how it feels to be violated. But I bet you'd feel a similar excruciating, colossal rage if I were your child, if I were your lover, if I were your sibling. Imagine the person you love most in the world getting raped by some piece of shit. You'd scream for vengeance. When you push someone's buttons enough, we're all the same primal beast buried beneath the lie we call civility. All of us are capable of feeling the same bestial rage when we've been fucked with enough. And on the hierarchy of scum, anyone who disrespects someone's bodily autonomy, whether sexually or otherwise, is certainly supreme scum. I think we can all agree. The only exception to that might be doctors who need to perform a life saving surgery on a small child who is too scared to want it. Or pediatric oncologists who need to treat the patient despite the child hating needles. It's weird that we have a suicide hotline, a subreddit, and all sorts of resources, but there's no homicide hotline as far as I'm aware. No one wants to talk about it. People like to say they can't understand why someone would want to take a life, but that's bullshit. Deep down, they understand it. Guess that's why I'm posting here. I'm suicidal anyway, and from where I stand, killing my enemies doesn't seem much different from ending it all. I'm already dead inside anyway.
It was at this point I became what I call a soft misanthrope. I didn't actually hate mankind, but I was perpetually disappointed. Humans are such obstinate beings, and everywhere you look you'll find poverty, pointless violence, abuse, and irrationality. Most will not accept harsh truths even if they stare them in the face. I quickly concluded that the “golden rule” was true. If we treated everyone how we'd like to be treated, there'd be no violence nor avoidable suffering in this world. And to truly adopt this principle, an individual would need to learn to love everyone as much as they love themselves. I think it was Ghandi who said be the change you want to see in the world or some shit like that, so I decided to strive to be what I would call the ideal human. I was kind to others, optimistic, I'd listen without judgment, I never lied, I immersed myself in academics, and I tried my damnedest to be a good friend to everyone. Humans are too smart for their own good. We're smart enough to build nuclear weapons, and we're also dumb enough to build nuclear weapons. Incredible. But deep down, I always knew why being optimistic about humanity is bullshit. As long as this bestial, primal shadow deep within our subconscious exists, there will always be suffering. We hurt others by living life on a whim without even realizing it, and birth hate into this world without realizing it. If I killed Kelsey, many would call my vengeance justice. And at this point, I have no other means to receive justice. And I could stop her from grooming someone else. Though most would never vocalize it, deep down many would cheer the slaughtering. But at the same time, I'd steal from two parents their daughter, a brother his sister, perhaps children their mother. And all of them would want to kill me and deliver to me the same justice I had to Kelsey. This primal, animalistic shadow controls us in more ways than we even realize. We feel it every time we lust for another's body, every time we gluttonously devour junk food, and every time we watch Kill Bill and cheer as Uma Thurman kills her enemies. See? Whether or not you want to admit it, the shadow has still infused the capacity to take a life into you. We like the violence in Kill Bill when it's done by Beatrix Kiddo but not by Budd because we relate to Beatrix. The only reason you can relate to her without seeing her as a disgusting psychopath like Budd is because you too are capable of her violence. Strip away all our material possessions, material desires, relationships, and social conditioning, and we're just beasts who eat, kill, fuck, repeat. The only reason two people can peacefully have a conversation is because of a large number of assumptions they share. Peace is not the natural order of mankind.
As stupid as it sounds, I've never related to anything more than I do the NPC meme, and I say that as someone who considers himself a liberal, so it's not like I'm saying that because I have any love for the alt-right. The meme is absolutely correct. People do not form their worldview and beliefs through critical analysis and the indifferent pursuit of truth, but instead through the passive unconscious process of cultural osmosis. That is how one is simultaneously capable of being appalled by rape when done by a man to a woman yet look me in the eye and tell me I was lucky. They have no principles. Just random, unoriginal ideas absorbed from the culture around them. They project their fantasy onto reality and perceive the world filtered through their cultural brainwashing. From the time I've spent on r/SuicideWatch, it seems to me that many of the people here are critical thinkers who are pained with intelligence. People here seem to often be deep thinkers, people who want answers about why humanity is the way it is, answers to their suffering, answers about the world. We see the world, humanity, for what it is. I love the people on this sub so much. When you take an honest look around at this fucked up world, filled with bastards like Kelsey, like me, filled with poverty, populated by humans so greedy, so dishonest, so obstinate, so cruel, so irrational, so passive, so indifferent, so uncritical, perhaps we're not the insane ones. Maybe sadness, depression, anger, misanthropy, antisocial behavior, wanting to die, and suicide are the sane reactions to an insane world. It is through this cultural brainwashing that traditions survive. I hate tradition. Tradition is a word we use to dress up inhumanity and stubbornness as something noble, something to be respected, as opposed to moving forward, progressing, trying something new, developing better ways of life. For me, there is one tradition in particular that sets my brain on fire. Many have been hurt by this tradition, but for most it's an unimportant detail of their life. Most barely give it a second thought and passively accept it, but obviously that's not true for me. I hate it. It is the subject of crude banter, yet also outrage from few voices. You'll probably laugh when I say this, because many in American culture and elsewhere would say it is ridiculous to be upset over this. You're ridiculed by others if you confess to being upset about it, and I can practically feel the harsh skepticism, dismissal, and laughter some will give me as this as I type these words. The tradition I despise so deeply is male infant circumcision.
For the first 18 years of my life, I thought something about the manhood department always felt...off. The mechanics and anatomy of my manhood always felt so uncomfortable and inconvenient. Sometimes downright painful. But I never thought anything of it, and I never heard the word circumcision until I was a teenager, and even then I certainly never thought I was cut. As far as I knew, it was only something Jews did, and both my parents are atheists, so I figured I was safe. All of my anatomy textbooks throughout my life only ever showed circumcised dicks without mentioning that they had been circumcised, so I figured I was intact. But in reality I was botched. The doctor took off too much skin, making erections painful and tight, sometimes tearing the skin and causing me to bleed. But I never thought anything other than that's just how it is. I had no reason to believe I had been snipped. I never even thought about it. It wasn't until I was 18 years old, watching porn in the privacy of my room I learned the truth. I remember seeing a thumbnail with an intact penis and was instantly intrigued. What the hell was up with his cock? I clicked on it and instantly thought how much more convenient it would be for me to have all that extra skin. And as far as I was aware, no other cocks were like that. They were all like mine, and this guy was just a lucky bastard. Then I scrolled down to the comments. Holy shit. What the hell was I reading? I couldn't possibly have been cut. No way, right? Well, I went over to google images and got a picture comparing circ'd to uncirc'd. I stared at the pictures until it clicked and I nearly threw up. I had been circ'd and I'd been living a lie for the past 18 years of life. Instantly, those feelings of disgust and violation Kelsey had inflicted on me came boiling up again. Once again, I had no control. My body was at the whims of others. Something I'm against doing to children on principle has been inflicted onto me. But I quickly realized my parents must've had good reason, right? Curiosity got to me, and I started reading everything I could get my hands on about foreskin and circumcision, and I gotta say, the more I learn, the more hurt I feel. I learned both of the purported health benefits and the downsides, and I realized truths I never knew existed. I never knew that I had been through so much pain and bleeding because too much skin was taken off. I just figured I had the normal amount of skin and everyone dealt with this. I read about so many potential side effects of this procedure, and I recognized nearly all of them in myself. I know most circ'd men may be fine with it, but to me being circ'd and genuinely despising that this has been done to your body all wrapped up in the bow of non-consent feels sorta like rape. At least for me.
It took me a while to grow the balls to ask about it, but when I did I spoke to both of my parents at once. I simply asked, “Hey, you're each atheists, right? So why exactly did you get me circumcised?” I remember they looked at each other before my mother answered. “So you could be like your dad.” From what I hear, this is a common reason parents circ their kids. Again, I wanted to throw up. I already hated that this had been done to me, and it wasn't even done out of concern for my health or because I had some sort of problem that couldn't be resolved with more conservative methods, but out of cosmetic perversion. Out of a perverted desire to make me match my father. If it were out of health concerns, I could accept that, but no. Sexualizing your own infant, fucking gross. And the look like daddy excuse is such bullshit. Dad wouldn't have cut his cock off if I had been completely botched. It took every fiber of my being to not unleash a torrent of curses and verbal abuse in their direction. In that moment, I saw red. I saw Kelsey. But I did nothing because my parents love me, and what would killing get for me aside from catharsis and a prison sentence? There are ways to get revenge that are legal, and if Kelsey taught me anything, it's that love is a weakness you can easily exploit. I don't want to see my parents again because all the feelings of violation, loss, sadness, helplessness, betrayal, and disgust that bother me come swelling up at the sight of them. Unfortunately, they're still a small part of my life, but I'll be far the fuck away soon. Those fuckers are yet to realize how unfortunate they are to have a vengeful sadist like me for a son. I have a plan for revenge with no scams, violence, or any illegal channels. I'll make them regret their decision, and they're going to feel guilt for it, and they will watch helplessly as I disown them. I wonder what their stupid faces will look like when I tell them how violated I feel by them, how much I hate their guts, and that they will never speak to me again while I'm out in the world being more successful than them. And it's their own fault. They'll probably feel devastation, loss, powerlessness, anger, and guilt. I probably sound cruel. But what about my loss? My powerlessness? My anger? How violated I feel because of them? I can't undo these feelings, but I sure as hell can get some catharsis. Fuck turning the other cheek. Turning the other cheek is every coward's favorite passage because it lets them glorify their weakness as virtue and nobility. It flips the natural order of the world to make strength weakness and weakness strength. It's a passage for making slaves content in their subjugation. It allows evil to perpetually abuse while the weak gain pride from their suffering at the expense of seeing the truth. They're not going to inflict violation onto me and get away with it. It won't undo my feelings, and it will hurt my parents, but I'm not letting them live their happy lives thinking I love them just because that's what society says I should do. I live my life for myself and not for them because I'm not a slave. I live as I please.
Cursed by this knowledge, I hate my body, and unlike what I told myself to cope with what Kelsey did, my body is not the same. It was permanently altered without my consent for the satisfaction of perverts, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm so fucking tired of people treating me and my body like it's just some plaything. The school bullies, Kelsey, my parents, the doctor. And being a person who is very sexual, I hate so deeply that my sexuality keeps getting altered by the whims of others. God, I just hate my life and hate humans. History repeats itself, and again I took to the internet for the sake of discussion. I quickly found that even even though some vigorously oppose circumcising children, most were dismissive and ridiculed me all over again if I expressed feeling violated. Though some have other reasons, most have simply absorbed the belief that this procedure is good for most through cultural osmosis. And you can't change their mind. You can rant and rave until you're blue in the face, cite as many scientific papers and statistics as you want, debunk as many myths as you want, and it changes nothing. You can demonstrate truth in a comparison of removal of the foreskin and some other bodily atrocity and people will only condemn one. They'd be perfectly sympathetic if I were a woman who had her clitoral hood removed and felt violated by it, but they're fucking baffled if I profess my feelings. You can't ration someone out of a belief that was arrived to irrationally. George Orwell's doublethink is real and fucking terrifying. I have found some who see this issue for what it is. Unfortunately, though, I cannot get back what was stolen from me. The only hope the future holds for this possibility is a company called Foregen that wants to use regenerative medicine to undo circumcision. But that'll cost about 10k once it comes out. But why the fuck should I have to pay 10k to get back what I was entitled to by right of birth? To help restore the feeling of wholeness every human is entitled to? And it's not like any attorney would try to help me sue my parents or the doctor who did this. So instead I'll just break their hearts. You can also stretch your shaft skin out, which I've done and has been immensely helpful, but that's just a mimic and doesn't take away the violation. Doesn't take away the knowledge I'm cursed with. And the fact I can't remember it creeps me the fuck out. I have so many fucking questions I'd like to ask that piece of shit doctor. Fuck, I hate my body. I can't escape the feelings of incompleteness, and I can still feel Kelsey there touching me and changing me from the innocent boy I once was to the son of a bitch I am now. I would like nothing more than to have a different body. Or to have never been born at all for that matter. Life is a real pain in the ass.
Most people will defend the subhuman monster who molested me and defend the fact I was snipped without my consent, so when I look out on this world, you know what I see? I see Kelsey everywhere I look. People who have no respect for bodily autonomy. I tried being a soft misanthrope, but now I'm the real deal. I fucking hate humans. The way they look makes me sick. The sound of their voices is nails on a chalkboard. I want to kill myself every day just so I can get rid of everyone. Now, I know with what I've written that you must be thinking this is some insane mass shooter's manifesto, but that's not the case. I'm smart enough to know there are angels out there. Many of them are here in this sub and have just been disappointed and hurt by the cancer we call mankind. I would never go on a shooting rampage because I would never want to hurt an angel. It wouldn't get me anything anyway. I can't tell who an angel is at a glance. But everyone still looks like Kelsey to me. I have to assume they'll ridicule or dismiss me if I were to tell them these things, because history has shown me that most will. I can't stand anymore arrogant indifference and ridicule. I can only discover whether someone is an angel or not by talking to them, but why would I bother when they disgust me from afar? Maybe they are a beautiful angel buried beneath their facade, but who cares? I used to yearn for friendship and love. I don't anymore. I'm fine all alone. What can these glorified germs we call people give me I can't give myself? Ridicule? The sight of humans disgusts me, the sound of their voices grates on my ears, and a lot of them are razor blades if you get too close. I'm out of patience, and I have been liberated from having hope. I have no hopes nor dreams for mankind other than a giant meteor coming to kill us all. I can't be bothered to care what anyone thinks of me. Can't be bothered to extend the same kindness and generosity I once did for those who never would for me. I've heard people on this sub say what's stopping them from killing themselves is the fear of hurting someone near and dear to them. That's not me at all. I realized quickly that because you can exploit other people's love to hurt them, I could get revenge on my parents for their role in making me hate my body by killing myself and leaving behind a little spiteful suicide note. If someone misses me when I'm gone, good. Fuck them. So few ever offered compassion, let alone tried to understand, and the silence has been deafening my whole life, so I hope it hurts. I fucking hate humans, and killing myself will get rid of them all. Doesn't sound much different than killing them all. Finally, some peace and quiet, liberated from the body I hate. But really, that's not what I want. I don't want to give in to this piece of shit world. I have big dreams, aspirations, and I don't want the fuckers all around me to stop me from achieving them. The way I see it, if I kill myself I just give more power to Kelsey and to my parents and to the doctor and to the sea of filth we call mankind. Fuck that shit. What I want is to stand tall after having achieved my dreams and raise a middle finger to this whole goddamn world. Still, though, the other option is really appealing sometimes. I've also read that for many parents, being disowned by your own child can be a more painful experience than having said child die. That motivates me to stay alive. I want to see the look on their stupid faces as I say I hate them. I want revenge. I don't want psychiatric help. It might pacify my colossal rage and the hate I have for my body, but fuck that. It's not a sign of health to be well adjusted to an immensely sick society. My feelings are perfectly completely justified. I'm not insane. Everyone else is. I wish none of this had happened. I wish I could find out what kind of man I'd be instead of the son of a bitch I am now. He's probably be closer to the good person I once was. But you and I can't meet him because he's fucking dead. He was murdered. Everyone else pissed on his grave. His tombstone reads, “Only ever wanted all of you to love him the way he loved you.” Thanks for ruining my life.
Submitted January 06, 2019 at 06:36AM by WeirdSadThrowaway http://bit.ly/2GX7RgG
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