Like the title says, I posted this to r/SuicideWatch a few months back, but it got removed the same day so here I am. The mods never gave me a reason. Maybe my post was too edgy or maybe they thought I was trolling. But I assure you that what I'm about to tell you is 100% real. I wrote this from a place of anger, so keep that in mind. You can PM me if you want. I didn't get much of a response from the other sub anyway. I just need to post this somewhere to get all this shit off my chest and liked the look of this sub. The only reason I've waited so long to post this is because I'm afraid and embarrassed. It's kinda stupid that I'm afraid when no one really cares anyway. Sorry for the wall.
The fact someone like me 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. 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 every now and then on my main account, but I'm using an alt because...I dunno. In the deep recesses of my black heart, the final bastion of goodness cries out for compassion. When I'm in public, people see my manners, smile, and good looks but they don't see the darkness that lies beneath the surface. I just need to get this all off my chest and hope someone out there can hear me and understand why I feel the way that I do, because it feels like the world is my enemy right now.
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. 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. For both of my parents, 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 the names on the post 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 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 if she wanted to play outside, but instead she just said, “No, but c'mere. I wanna show you something REALLY cool.” I remember 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 already 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 nine months 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 could never truly be 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. 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. 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. The few friends I had ridiculed me when I opened up to 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 we'll call 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're the type of friends talking serious with is hard. The second was a girl we'll call Isabel. She was a cynical misanthrope, and the first to actually have a face to face conversation with me about this aside from ridicule. 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 the same. 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 tons 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. But I won't do anything because the law forbids it. 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 inflict the most inhumane torture your worst nightmare could never come up with on her, but you know what? From where I stand, it's Kelsey who seems 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. She deserves it. 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 degenerate. 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. 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 pretend they can't understand why someone would want to take a life, but that's bullshit. Deep down, they understand it. 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 something 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. 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. I'm not going to do it, but if I killed Kelsey, many would call my vengeance justice. And I could stop her from grooming someone else. Though most would never vocalize it, deep down many would cheer the inhumane torture. 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 hating her is because you too have the emotional capacity to commit her violence if you were standing in her shoes. Strip away all our material possessions, material desires, relationships, and social conditioning, and we're just beasts who eat, kill, fuck, repeat. Peace is not the natural order of mankind.
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. 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 I'm not insane. 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 cut. 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 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 controlled by 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, the functions of the foreskin, 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 men might be okay with it, but when I finally realized what had been done to me, I felt raped all over again.
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 sick desire to make me match my father. If it were out of health concerns, I could accept that, but no. Because they wanted my dick to look a certain way. Fucking disgusting perverts. 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 verbal razors in their direction. In that moment, I saw red. I saw Kelsey. But I did nothing because my parents love me, and what would murdering them in a fit of rage 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 exploit. I don't want to see my parents again because all the feelings of violation, loss, sadness, helplessness, betrayal, rage, 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 after I exploit them for every penny I can get out of them and unleash my verbal razors on 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 those losers could ever dream of being. 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 I feel violated and humiliated all over again because of them? I can't undo these feelings, but I sure as hell can hurt them to get some catharsis. I don't give a shit. 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 live their lives like it never happened. 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 anyone else because I'm not a slave. Maybe if I'm REALLY lucky, each of them will get cancer before it's disowning time, and I'll get the pleasure of watching them die slowly and painfully, all while they falsely believe that I'm just their regular ol' loving son as I laugh at their pain behind their backs and collect the inheritance. They by-proxy initiated sexual violence against me. PAID someone to cut off part of my cock before I could even fathom the idea of consent for their own perverse desires. They can 100% go fuck themselves.
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. How can my body ever truly be mine when part of me was cut off to satisfy perverts. 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 everything. 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. 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, express your darkest feelings in the most visceral way possible 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. George Orwell's doublethink is real and fucking terrifying. 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, not to mention all the money the supporters have to donate just to make it possible. 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 everyone 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 undo that this was done to me. Doesn't restore every function and supporting structure. 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. He's another fucker I'd love to torture like Kelsey and my parents. But I hate society, too. It's partly society's fault that this was done to me, so fuck everyone. Society is why this “procedure” is done in the first place, so it's society's fault that I'm “living” feeling hurt, raped, and humiliated day in and day out. Every time I go to pee. Every time I go to masturbate. Every time I feel my glans chafe. Fuck, I hate my body! I can't escape the feelings of incompleteness and humiliation, 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.
Most people will defend the subhuman monster who molested me and defend the fact I was mutilated without my consent, so when I look out on this world, you know what I see? I see Kelsey everywhere I look. People who don't give two shits about consent. 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. Fuck everyone. Fuck society. I don't want to live another day in this shit world. 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. I'm not that much of a loser. 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 my projection, but who cares? I used to crave friendship, camaraderie, a girlfriend, and romance. I don't anymore. I'm fine all alone. What can anyone else 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. If the nuclear apocalypse came tomorrow and killed everyone, I wouldn't really care. I've heard people 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. 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. Fuck that. What I want is to stand tall after having achieved my dreams and regenerated my foreskin 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. Not gonna lie, vengeance is part of what's pushing these feet forward. I want to see the look on their stupid faces when I tell them the truth. 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 world. My feelings are completely reasonable. I'm not insane. Everyone else is. I wish none of this had happened. I wish I could have back the good person I once was instead of the son of a bitch I am now. 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, “Just wanted you to love him the way he loved you.” Thanks for ruining my life.
Submitted March 13, 2019 at 03:03AM by WeirdSadThrowaway https://ift.tt/2CbT1xZ
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