It has been only a mere two years since I came here and as I sit here in my cell the only way I pass the time nowadays is count the moments until they come to take me to meet my maker, or so they think anyways. The fools think they have made me weak by placing me in solitary confinement only to rot, but before I get to that I have chosen to write an autobiography. An autobiography just for the hell of it or just no particular reason at all. Maybe because it has been so long since I ever had complete control of myself. I think my life story may shed light as to what I mean.
It is so hard to remember my exact age, but I think perhaps it was around the age of nine when everything started to become chaotic or somewhat heavenly depending who one asks, especially myself. My childhood started out simple enough. I had parents, a younger brother, and even a friend or two. Then again, now that I think about it, I do not think I ever needed friends anyway. My family never made much money, but we got by just fine. If what I remember is accurate, I may recall getting a Megatron action figure for Christmas along with a Darth Maul lightsaber as well.
(Megatron is a Transformers character and Darth Maul is a Star Wars character)
Life was normal outside of school for me. It was the inside part where everything began changing me for the better. It is all a domino effect from there. One thing just ended making every new experience so much darker.
Since I was never part of the in crowd at school and a bit of the loner, I became a perfect target for bullies, male and female alike. They called me names, pushed me around, stole from me, and even one kid threw a rock at me. I never really did everything. I was too afraid to fight back. I did tell my parents, as any child with fear would do, and my parents told the school principle. It never helped by normal standards, but instead my abnormal standards. The other kids found out and began harassing me further. At the time I wanted to badly I wanted them to stop, but sitting here today in this cell I have to be grateful for it now. Things will become to you, my readers, soon enough.
A couple years of crying until the age of eleven I think was where my evolution truly began. My father often made myself and my brother go to a Christian church, of no real particular denomination anyway. After a few months of going I barley recall arriving early one Sunday. There were plenty of seats open so naturally I sat in front on the left side as to be in close sight of the preachers. Even at a church I faced bullying there as well. After a few minuets someone came and sat next to me. Not a preacher, but someone slightly older maybe. It was so strange to me that there so many seats left open so why sit next to me? I do not remember his name nor his face, he may have had a nasty look to him. Now that I think about it, he may have had slick black hair brushed back. We talked for a few moments about everyday things such as weather and television shows. Being a naturally shy and scared child I did no talk too much. For a moment I thought I had made a friend, but that was so far from it. Soon enough he started to get physical with me. My knowledge about sex was still absent from my mind at the time so I did not know why he was touching me. He then started hitting me in a very painful area for no reason other for his own sick pleasure. It was there where the glass represent my mind began to crack.
After church ended I never told my parents. I felt wrong about it and then as time went by I forgot about entirely. Depression began to replace my fear then the depression went hand in hand with anger I never thought I had before. I grew bitter and cold towards everyone I new and met. I sought solitude wherever I could find it. The neighborhood kids I played with, at the time out of school, gradually lessened as time went on. Soon enough I developed a sadistic nature. It led to one day throw a cat in a ceiling fan once and kicked a door so hard it injured the paw of a puppy. It was on the other side of the door. It was barking so I new it was there. I began too hate life so much I was committed to a mental hospital for trying to hang myself.
After I got out things seem to be normal. My bullying experiences decreased and began to smile again. I even found out I was going to have another brother soon. What innocent joy I felt at the time was to be short lived. My parents separated about three years after my second brother was born and we moved to Mississippi, from North Carolina, to live with my father's parents. Things got even worse for me the day we moved in.
I had this female cousin who did not have much respect for me. She was much older than me so she often gave a rude attitude. Without realizing, the glass in my mind began to crack further when one day she pretty much dragged me off to a church, an hour or so away from the area. I told my father I did not want go, but told me otherwise. At the time I did not remember what happened the last time I went to a church, but I new I was verbally aggressive against it. Later that night I was pissed off wished I was dead. The months went on with my anger rising to the surface again until a similar idea to came to mind. My life was getting worse and wanted so badly for it to stop. Before I could complete the task my father had taken the knife away from me and was taken off to a different hospital again. This place was worse than the last, in a way at least. I was still not into actual fighting, but came close a couple of times with two other patients there. The result of those was being put in padded room away from everyone else. I passed the time drawing pictures of the same clown burning the hospital to the ground over and over again. I never new why, but for reasons unknown and still to this day have a strange obsession with clowns. The orderlys there found out my little art projects and had the doctor's prescribed me with Adderall and Prozac. I did not know what they were, but sometimes took them while other times hid them under my tongue, only to end spitting them in the trash.
I got out after a few weeks and my aunt treated me to some fun at a Chuckie Cheese before we went home. It was fun, though I must admit I was getting a little too old for places like that. Age is so difficult for me to remember. Sometimes I think it is as one age then other times at another. Maybe I was 15 or 16 at the time. A shame that the one day was the only happy day I would have for a long time to come.
Eventually, my father got a job making chairs and we were able to move out about ten miles up the road. The house was okay I suppose, but nothing to brag about. I even got my own room for the first time in my life so that was nice. I attended my first day of school after a couple of weeks of moving in. The worst part about the dress code was having your shirt tucked in along with a belt, but could wear most of whatever the students felt good in. A few local kids asked me some questions about me, but soon avoided me after my first day because they thought I was gay even though I was not. Today I consider myself asexual. It means I have attraction to any gender, but who would take the word of someone like me?
This school was not much better than the last. I was teased and laughed when the other students saw me wearing glasses. That day they pushed my sanity when something inside me snapped at yelled to every student in class that I would kill them all. When I said those words I felt I could sense their fear even though I my back was turned after I sat down at my desk. If they did not avoid me before they certainly did now. What ever it was I felt at the time, I found myself wanting more.
About a year later there was a pep-rally. Every two weeks on a Friday everyone in the school would gather in the gymnasium and watched to cheerleaders do their thing. The mascot would run around, high fiveing the students. It was pretty much a celebration for the football team's home game for that night. I did not care much for it. i just sat alone in the middle part of the bleachers, bored out of my mind. My back was tuned and don't know who is was exactly, but some or a few classmates of mine were throwing paper balls and pencils at me for no reason. After I had enough my sadism and anger kicked in and looked behind me. I saw four male students looking straight at me it so I knew it was at least one of them. Then I just stood up, walked up to them normally and simple picked one out of the four. I then began beating the living hell out of him.
I felt incredible. Adrenaline surging through me as I had his life in my hands, making him suffer relentlessly. It was hard to believe I was having so much fun even though I was so angry. I felt like a complete God. After a moment or two, it took at least three or four bystanders to pull me back before the principle, who was already passing by, stepped in to break us up. We both were suspended for three days after that, but I didn't care. It seemed like a vacation to me and enjoyed my suspension willingly. Over those three days I lay down in my bed, staying awake, smiling and laughing after what I had done. When I did sleep I dreamed about stabbing a little brown puppy with a knife.
Time seemed to pass by soon after and most of it is a complete blur to me now, yet bits and pieces still remain, however long that may be now. My sadism intensified to the point I began wanting to get bullied just so I would have the excuse to hurt them for my joy, but it only happened on rare occasions. Being feared is great and alI, but there is a lack of flesh for one to torture. Sure I could have simply just started a confrontation, but it did not seem my style at all. God and the society of this world made me what I made am so why change a good thing? When I tired of hearing the screams of small animals I got a wonderful idea. I would just simply torture myself instead. I tried a variety of ways. The classic cutting with a razor, whipping myself with wire, boiling my limbs in few pot and pans, but my preferred method was burning myself with cigarettes. I lost count around 70 or so. Most of them are either on my torso or my right arm. I think of myself as a non sexual sadomasochist, meaning I love to give pain and also receive it. I even love watching it to others.
I recall one of my favorite movies, Saving Private Ryan I believe it is called, staring Tom Hanks. A World War Two movie about a Captain being sent behind German lines to retrieve Private Ryan and send him home, due to his three other brothers being killed in action. One day I still remember was my father looking at me as if I was a monster when I saw the scene at the beginning of the movie. I laughed part where the Americans were being killed by German enemy fire on a beach. There was an explosion then there lay a soldier on the ground with his own organs laying out on the sand, crying for his mother as he way dying. I still think of the movie as a comedy, only to myself and hope to see it all over again soon.
Maybe a little cliche now, but bare with me my readers. After being falsely accused of stealing I tried to kill myself again. This time I kept ramming my head against a light post, my forehead all cut and bleeding, but still alive. Next thing I know I'm on the ground crawling towards the highway, hoping a car would run me over. I almost made it too if it was not some pestering bystander calling to police and them having sent an ambulance for me. To this day I still think about wrangling the neck of that nuisance, but I never saw his face and unable to remember what his voice sounded like, so now as I sit here in this cell I call it a hobby to fantasize myself killing him along with so many others, including my family. There is a bit of good news though. I found out that I am bi-polar and a paranoid schizophrenic. My medication was change to Cogentin and Geodon. During my third time in the nut house again I remembered being molested as a kid, which reminds me.
In the time between the second and third when i was committed I actually became a priest in the Mormon religion. Can you believe it?! Ha Ha, but remember that I did not remember being molested at the time. Remember? Ha Ha Ha. That lasted about two years until i realized that I thought my life had still sucked. I pretty much left when I thought and still do think of God, religion. and the bible as nothing but trash. Now I like to use rational thought. It is something Christians do not really use. For example, Did you know that Noah lived to be about 950 yeas old?, but they will not tell you that during Sunday school because we might think it as a made up story. How about one more then? People lie and steal so that pretty much guarantees a place in Hell for you. So why would The Devil punish you? He just might like having you around because you got something in common with him, but do not take my word for it. I am crazy and I love it because now I know that life is not worth living.
When i was first brought here to the prison I was in with the general population. That was until I killed some Aryan Hitler loving maniac who said the N word. Then I killed the black guy was dealing drugs. Rational thought people. Racism is bad and so are drugs. Now I am sure you are all wondering why I am in prison in the first place. Being a vigilante of course! Yeah I killed a couple of pedophiles, ripped out their own entrails then wore them like a scarf, ate their flesh, and drank their blood out of their own skulls, and finally had what was left of their remains sent to their families on their door step. For some reason people seem to think of me as a bad guy. Naturally, I assumed I was performing my civic duty as a good American, oh well then. That is what I get for my unique addiction for further insanity and pain.
I am sure there is more to my story, but I keep looking at the clock and it is almost time for my trip to the gas chamber so I am almost out of time, but fear not. As I said before at the beginning of my story, they think they have made me weak during my two year stay in solitary confindment, but it has only made me stronger. A short time in solitary makes even the sanest of people insane, but I am already crazy. By putting me here they have succeeded in making to idea of controlling me that much more difficult. It is not over yet. There are still important works to be done. I believe this world is already a lost cause, but I intend to make enjoy what little of it there is by making this prison scream. Try not to think of me as a bad person, but quite the humanitarian. Uh oh, I hear the guards coming and it is time to me to go. Maybe a sequel in the future if I survive...ha ha ha!