Since I can’t tell my councillors this or I’ll get fucked in the a** by the police and it’s been lingering on my mind because my father keeps putting his girlfriend before his own f****** kids;
I was going to kill my mother when I was ten/eleven.
So f****** much, probably at least two-three times a month my mother would threaten to hurt me and/or kick me out. She wouldn’t beat me or stuff, but there were times where she’d grab me by my throat or drag me by my arm and when I was younger, she would slap me for the stupidest things like my room being messy (she eventually stopped, I think when I was eight), throw things at me like cups and plates and anything close to her so I’d hide from her and s*** like moving my bed and s*** in front of my bedroom door.
When I was nine-ten-eleven I don’t f****** know I guess I finally f****** snapped after she trashed my room and threatened to hurt me (She had grabbed me by the throat and held me against the wall threatening to hurt me), so when she had her back turned to me about to leave the room I ran over to the bed and ripped a plank off the underside of it (y’know the part that holds the mattress up – and before you come at me, we weren’t rich and everything was falling apart so it wasn’t hard) and I went over to her with the plank prepared to beat her to death.
I don’t know/can’t remember why I stopped but I have a few ideas.
1) For as long as I can remember growing up I had constant nightmares of her leaving me and I didn’t want to be alone
2) I knew I’d get arrested for murder and I didn’t want to go to jail because let’s be honest – I wouldn’t be able to hide a dead body especially mothers
3) Deep down I really loved her (shocking) since she was my mother and I didn’t want to loose her
