Caution: after reading this, your image of me may change. And for that, I apologize. But it's okay. On this blog I will be honest and disclose anything and everything I feel I must to offer a better understanding of myself to any and all who read.
Without any rhyme or reason, sometimes my mind conjures some dark, twisted things and I have not the slightest idea why. I've always had a sort of dark entity per se, considering the fact that I tried to smother my crying baby brother with a pillow one time when I was 3, but over time it's become quite dormant. The countless spankings and personal epiphanies ( hats off to you God ) changed me. But that isn't to say that that part of me is gone. On quite the contrary, it is just as much present as it has ever been, only now I know self-restraint and discipline far stronger than any other person I've ever met to date... And such traits have truly saved me over the years. My thoughts even catch me off guard and can build up evil little urges who may run wild if I don't keep the allegorical foot of my sanity ( and well being ) on their throats.
I'm sure at this point you're probably reading this going-
"Oh it can't really be that bad"
Or
"What a drama queen"
But believe me, I have just cause for saying these things. Pft I'm perfectly okay with accepting that I have my own special kind of crazy. It just is what it is...Here are some pieces of my mind I'll allow whoever reads this to take a peak at. I've taken note of these "flashes" or episodes I have on my phone to make sure that I remember them and can work to build up a bulwark against them without having to wait for the flashes to present themselves again. You know, like a responsible adult or something.
One day, walking from a particularly frustrating practice I pictured my loud, vane coach. And him being as rowdy as he usually is, clowning people and poking fun where he can but picking the wrong day to do so. He pushes me jokingly to counteract the disgust I flash at him. "Never touch me again" I say. Of course, this doesn't work, and as he leans in to push me again, knowing he's much stronger than I, I take the Swiss army knife key chain I have, I flip out the knife and stab the center of his palm with it. As he retracts, knowing my limited time before his 300lb 6'4 frame with baseball mitt hands chase after my own leaner body, I dip down below and with the knife piece of the key chain, sever his Achilles. As he's falling he grabs me, and bringing a fist toward my face while trying to gouge my out with the other hand's thumb, I bring the knife up to my jaw. The punch goes through, but with diminished force as the puncture of the knife between the knuckles weakened his will, and as his hands drop, with my left hand I grab the bottom of jaw, and holding it tightly into the crook of my arm and against my bicep, secure it in place while with the other I swipe the knife across his throat, slow and straight. At once whatever maneuver he was planning to execute fell limp, and he dropped to the ground. At this point I'm covered in his blood and my own, and looking around at my teammates who all are staring at me in disbelief, fight or flight in their eyes. With a blank expression on my face, I turn from them and walk home.
A car honking a block away wakes me from this daydream.
A while back, my roommate had an incident where he brought a girl back to our dorm ( drunk beyond consciousness ) at 3am-ish the morning of my 8:30 am class which takes attendance. And needless to say I was a bit mad. After leaving for my class in the morning and coming back, I learned that she was still there, and didn't feel like having that encounter at all. Instead I resorted to sleeping in the common area of my hall on a profoundly uncomfortable couch, and here came the dark flash. Starting back at the time of their arrival, in my dream I phased back to that time, and followed all the same events as they truly did occur. But instead of going to sleep, I faked it until they were deep into a drunk slumber. And it was then that I acted. Decided to make this morning an ideal blackboard on which I would teach him a very invaluable lesson. After lying with my eyes closed and finally hearing their breathing gain breadth, I raised slowly. Knowing her personality from prior run-ins, and how blackout drunk she was, and how deep a sleeper my roommate is, I woke her softly and raising her out of bed, let her get to her feet before I swiftly knock her out. Figuring I could be sure of some aspects of her from the effort I'd put in to psychoanalyze her in our various interactions, I waited for her to regain consciousness but crouched over her hold a finger to my closed lips and make sure she can see even in the dark the gleam of eyes. A gleam that says she will be punished if she makes even a peep. Understanding her powerlessness and ignorance reinforced by her already clouded thought and bolstered emotionalism from the alcohol, most likely in my mind having already given up, I put a noose around her neck and setting it at just the right length, tie up her feet and place her in my empty standing closet from which she will then hang, only able to stand on her tip toes. I didn't harass her further, or hit her, I'm no animal. Such was not necessary. I knew she wouldn't kill herself because I was sure she was the type to truly fear death, let alone be the cause of her own demise. Shutting the door on her, properly silenced and fighting to maintain balance, I move on to my roommate. He is still asleep, none the wiser of what I have done, and mounting over him, crouched down with my chin to his ear and large hunting knife to his neck, I wake him with a tiny brush of the sharp metal to his throat, and as the blood starts to trickle, and he gasps, I whisper into his ear "you have made a very crazy man, very mad. Very mad indeed. You will apologize, you will change your ways, and you will speak nothing of this because who would believe you? Ever cause me to potentially miss class again, and I will make sure you and your lover never wake up again." Turning on the lamp, in the dimly lit room I walk over to my closet and reveal what is inside- his girlfriend of sorts, fighting to stand and breathing heavily. I release her to him without a word or even any emotion in my face, and popping sleeping pills into two glasses of water, each of them relatively unscathed, hand them the water with which they drink and fall into a deep drug induced sleep. I follow after them. Waking early, I rise slowly and look over to find the two of them awake and very still, staring in fear as I go about my normal morning routines. As I leave, I tenderly whisper "good morning" with a grin as I leave the room.
I awaken to the rustling of the girl storming down the hall during her walk of shame. She and I make eye contact as she reaches to press open the hall door and leave.
Walking to the library one night, in passing, a fraternity guy eyed me over smugly. I'm not sure why, or what about my appearance was worth smirking at condescendingly, but I held the eye contact for some time until he and his two friends were past me. Without even giving it a thought, my mind switched into one of those dark thoughts again, I blink and open my eyes to myself turning and shoulder charging one of them into the spiny bush that lines the sidewalk up to the dorm building. The other two turn around quickly hearing the rustling, and before either of them can fully evaluate the situation I've already drawn my small Swiss army knife and swiped at the mouth of the original perpetrator. He turns away, screaming and holding his face as the other considers lunging at me. He hesitates and I catch him in this moment with a planned jab that he would, in dodging, open up his midsection. I follow up with a much more powerful jab into his solar plexus, knocking the air out of his lungs instantaneously and borderline rupturing his diaphragm. The first that I'd shoulder charged by this time has gotten himself up with thorny leaves lodged all over his skin and clothes, and tentatively trying to lunge at me, I place wide swing over his head. As planned, he dodges it swerving to my left, but falling right into place, I use that momentum I created for myself to wind up for a swing of my 30 pound, laptop holding backpack, straight into the side of his ducked head. At this, all three of them are finished, lying in various positions. Finally for the first time, without the blood pounding in my ears, I am able to hear the screams and grunts of the one I cut. Regathering myself, and about to leave, I look over my shoulder at my handiwork one last time. My swipe left the smug individual with an ear to ear permanent grin and crimson stained hands, and on my face emerged one of my own as I continued onward toward the library.
Walking to the library one night, in passing, a fraternity guy eyed me over smugly. I'm not sure why, or what about my appearance was worth smirking at condescendingly, but I held the eye contact for some time until he and his two friends were past me. Without even giving it a thought, my mind switched into one of those dark thoughts again, I blink and open my eyes to myself turning and shoulder charging one of them into the spiny bush that lines the sidewalk up to the dorm building. The other two turn around quickly hearing the rustling, and before either of them can fully evaluate the situation I've already drawn my small Swiss army knife and swiped at the mouth of the original perpetrator. He turns away, screaming and holding his face as the other considers lunging at me. He hesitates and I catch him in this moment with a planned jab that he would, in dodging, open up his midsection. I follow up with a much more powerful jab into his solar plexus, knocking the air out of his lungs instantaneously and borderline rupturing his diaphragm. The first that I'd shoulder charged by this time has gotten himself up with thorny leaves lodged all over his skin and clothes, and tentatively trying to lunge at me, I place wide swing over his head. As planned, he dodges it swerving to my left, but falling right into place, I use that momentum I created for myself to wind up for a swing of my 30 pound, laptop holding backpack, straight into the side of his ducked head. At this, all three of them are finished, lying in various positions. Finally for the first time, without the blood pounding in my ears, I am able to hear the screams and grunts of the one I cut. Regathering myself, and about to leave, I look over my shoulder at my handiwork one last time. My swipe left the smug individual with an ear to ear permanent grin and crimson stained hands, and on my face emerged one of my own as I continued onward toward the library.
...
Last Monday, I had a dream that my roommate attempted to stab me in my sleep. Missing a vital artery, and in a panic, I reached for a broken phone that I found earlier in the semester off my desk and smash it against his face. Shards of silicon, plastic and glass lodge themselves into his face, and before he can ready any stab, I grab my keys from the desk and swipe my car key across his neck. Instantly slack forms in his bones and muscles, and he falls limp onto me, still lying in my bed. As this dream ends, I wake. It's 4 am, and he too at this point is awake, likewise having trouble sleeping. We greet each other awkwardly and chat briefly about how our weekends went before he crashes on me mid conversation.
Last Friday, I caught myself standing in the dank bathroom after a shower with my swiss army knife key-chain in my hand, staring into the mirror in the clear space I'd wiped of condensation. For some reason I was very intrigued in my reflection, and felt an intense urge to stab my arm or shoulder or something. Not because I am suicidal, ( though I am admittedly masochistic ), but more out of curiosity. To see just how far I could push myself and what kind of mental willpower I had. I didn't do anything this time to test the waters, but last time this happened, I sliced three clean lines into my left cheek near the jawline. Curiosity is an odd thing.
I spent 5 hours total this past Sunday day dreaming about me snapping and killing someone and how I'd get away with it. That same day, I spent 8 and a half hours total working at the stadium taking down all the season-ticket-holder seats and it seemed every other moment I would look out from my own immediate task my hands were working on and see morbid, dark images. Some times it would be that I would see myself throwing a wrench down the stands and cracking a kid in the chest or something ( we were working with some local high school rugby players ). Or maybe, being that I spent most of my time higher up in the stands, the sight of a kid whether it be my fault or not, tumbling down the stairs violently. And each time I reacted fast enough that I knew they were imagined and not real, but not quickly enough that I wasn't at first enthralled/intrigued in what exactly was unfolding before me. I even remember feeling what I'm sure it would have felt like if had pushed a certain kid down the stairs. Leathery and wet, yet solid under layers of the sleeve, being that the kid was a lineman wearing his letter jacket. I remember being in a stupor and looking down at my hands for some time before my coach berated me back to reality.
I plan to see a doctor about this sometime without my parents knowledge if at all possible. I don't think I'm at risk or a hazard for others. I know I could never let myself truly harm anyone, even if they'd severely wronged me ( and this has been proven over the course of my life ). I've had plenty of chances for subjectively justified revenge or retaliation, and have not even once ever acted upon them. But I think I'd just like to know. To know if maybe deep down, beyond all my compassion, romanticism and altruism, that maybe there still lies that darkness from my younger days, rooted quietly in the depths of my mind. I found it odd that in this short time that I've been in college my Dark Passenger has emerged and reared its ugly head much more frequently than ever before.
I'm crazy man.
Last Monday, I had a dream that my roommate attempted to stab me in my sleep. Missing a vital artery, and in a panic, I reached for a broken phone that I found earlier in the semester off my desk and smash it against his face. Shards of silicon, plastic and glass lodge themselves into his face, and before he can ready any stab, I grab my keys from the desk and swipe my car key across his neck. Instantly slack forms in his bones and muscles, and he falls limp onto me, still lying in my bed. As this dream ends, I wake. It's 4 am, and he too at this point is awake, likewise having trouble sleeping. We greet each other awkwardly and chat briefly about how our weekends went before he crashes on me mid conversation.
Last Friday, I caught myself standing in the dank bathroom after a shower with my swiss army knife key-chain in my hand, staring into the mirror in the clear space I'd wiped of condensation. For some reason I was very intrigued in my reflection, and felt an intense urge to stab my arm or shoulder or something. Not because I am suicidal, ( though I am admittedly masochistic ), but more out of curiosity. To see just how far I could push myself and what kind of mental willpower I had. I didn't do anything this time to test the waters, but last time this happened, I sliced three clean lines into my left cheek near the jawline. Curiosity is an odd thing.
I spent 5 hours total this past Sunday day dreaming about me snapping and killing someone and how I'd get away with it. That same day, I spent 8 and a half hours total working at the stadium taking down all the season-ticket-holder seats and it seemed every other moment I would look out from my own immediate task my hands were working on and see morbid, dark images. Some times it would be that I would see myself throwing a wrench down the stands and cracking a kid in the chest or something ( we were working with some local high school rugby players ). Or maybe, being that I spent most of my time higher up in the stands, the sight of a kid whether it be my fault or not, tumbling down the stairs violently. And each time I reacted fast enough that I knew they were imagined and not real, but not quickly enough that I wasn't at first enthralled/intrigued in what exactly was unfolding before me. I even remember feeling what I'm sure it would have felt like if had pushed a certain kid down the stairs. Leathery and wet, yet solid under layers of the sleeve, being that the kid was a lineman wearing his letter jacket. I remember being in a stupor and looking down at my hands for some time before my coach berated me back to reality.
I plan to see a doctor about this sometime without my parents knowledge if at all possible. I don't think I'm at risk or a hazard for others. I know I could never let myself truly harm anyone, even if they'd severely wronged me ( and this has been proven over the course of my life ). I've had plenty of chances for subjectively justified revenge or retaliation, and have not even once ever acted upon them. But I think I'd just like to know. To know if maybe deep down, beyond all my compassion, romanticism and altruism, that maybe there still lies that darkness from my younger days, rooted quietly in the depths of my mind. I found it odd that in this short time that I've been in college my Dark Passenger has emerged and reared its ugly head much more frequently than ever before.
I'm crazy man.
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