I was abused by my mom’s boyfriend physically and mentally at the age of 4 and 5. I was at times- starved, hit, groomed perversely, and one time he even tried to smother me to death in my own bed when I woke up one morning.

After this lasted for several months, and my mom finally found out (he had been doing this secretly, she is very protective) she (we) left him. But not before he lifted her by the throat off the ground, my 5 year old self screaming at him to stop. My mom eventually got free and opened the front door, allowing me to get free to my neighbors, all the while hearing her scream “run, run!” in the background, and the screaming in reaction to her soon ex-boyfriend.

During the months prior, my mom had become an addict to crystal meth. She wasn’t a bad mother, she was just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had separate visitations with my dad every other week end. Did I mention I also wanted to kill my mom’s ex boyfriend when I grew up? Not now, but at the time, I planned to eventually do that when I became an adult (I never did it however. Thankfully?).

Years pass, and my biological parents have remarried, and my mother has been completely clean of drugs. We are happy. I am happy. But at 7 years old, that’s when the night terrors started. Not just your average night terrors, but vivid and felt real. I swear I was awake. I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination.

After a while, I am too afraid to sleep in my own room, or walk down the hall way. I move rooms, only to be too scared and it becomes the norm to sleep in my parents room on a blanket.

More years pass, and we are getting tighter and tighter on money. My dad tries to hold what little jobs he can even get hired to, but to no fault of his own, fails. We have to move out of our current house at the time, because some family decided to sell it out from under us. We have to move into the trailer below the hill that my great uncle died in a few years prior.

That place was all sorts of messed up. Not only was there a rot stain from his corpse on the floor, the carpet had been completely torn from the living room floor. Yet still, a stain was on the wood. Yes, that kind of stain. A very big stain that wouldn’t come off. The place had a weird smell, but we eventually got used to it, I think. I know this next bit seems insane, but eventually a thing started where we would hear what sounded like loud stomping where the stain was, that would shake the entire trailer, at any given random time. Many, multiple times. Believe what you will about that.

We eventually move out when I am age 11, and head out of state. We planned on making that permanent residence, but eventual homelessness as well as the death of my grandmother (my mother’s mother) killed that plan. I lost all of my friends, along with many of my possessions. We come back to the trailer, nearly a year had passed and I was already 12 at the time. We eventually have to move in with my dad’s parents (my grandparents on his side, my grandma and step granddad) some plan that was. They were horrible people.

For years, I was verbally and sometimes even physically abused by those old folks. I was told I was stupid, nothing I did was right, all of my interests were crapped on and I was made to feel embarrassed for any interests I had, I was hit, the whole run of the mill.

Then came my uncle. My alcoholic, trashy, profane, abusive uncle. He forced me and some of my cousins to watch s***. If you don’t know what s*** is, it’s a video of either a torture or murder, or both I think. The s*** video he forced me and my cousins to watch was a cartel execution video. Keep in mind that I was 12 at the time. One person killed had his head cut off slowly by a chainsaw, the video depicted a full frontal view. The other had his throat slit. There was more blood than I ever seen on anything on television. Of course, this was real. Not pretend, fake nonsense like Hollywood releases.

Heh. I hated my uncle for a long time, so long. Anger had begun to build up. No matter where I went, I was always abused or tormented. No matter how hard my family tired to succeed and live a happy life, we always got the shortest end of the stick. We were perpetually screwed no matter how hard we tried.

It was around this time that I began desiring to murder. Just, general speaking. Murderous tendencies, or thoughts, you might say, including desires. Aha, I never murdered. But I definitely wanted to. But, I fought against this bloody urge. The anger, combined with the seeming unfairness of life, the abuse, to witnessing two very gory murders- video or no, and almost being murdered myself by my mom’s ex-boyfriend, left me very traumatized.

So how on earth did I resist this urge to murder? Well at first, it wasn’t too difficult. I simply learned to bury those feelings deep and resist them. But one week, one day, they became overbearing. They became too strong to bury. I reached a stage where I feared myself, what I might do. How did I react? Instead of murdering someone, I made quite the big choice. I decided, that the only way to avoid lashing out and murdering at random, was to direct all of the hatred and anger inwardly, towards myself.

Of course, this came with quite a few drawbacks. One of them being that I subconsciously blocked the memory of this specific event out until years into my early 20’s. When the memories of this surfaced, other memories surfaced too. Like, how I was starved in a locked room by my mom’s ex boyfriend at 4 and 5 years old. Or, how I would self harm at 7, 8, and 9 in various forms. From bashing my head repeatedly into a wall, to beating myself in the arms and legs with belts or other objects, to straight up balling a fist and repeatedly punching myself in the face as hard and as many times as physically possible for a child to do.

The self harm hadn’t ever really stopped however, except a brief time between my late teens, early 20’s. I got back into it a year after I dumped my ex, who was very manipulative and horrid on very level. I put my all into making her happy, but she always screwed me over, cheated, talked down to me, and was even slightly racist toward my accent and made it very clear to me. She didn’t hold back. Anyway, a year after I dumped her, I started self harming. This time with razors. The cutting trend has continued to this day, and I am 23 and about to be 24, but at least I have come a long way. I did go a year without doing it. But I relapsed just prior to writing this post.

Throughout this time, and times like it in my teens, I had become very suicidal. From 14-16 or 17 I wanted to kill myself. I hated myself, I have never truly loved myself. I still hate and loathe my petty existence. But at least I am not (always) suicidal. In fact it is more rare nowadays. Mainly because I have friends now, good friends. I have been betrayed so much in my life, so this is how I know I have good friends now. I pick my friends wisely and carefully. People that I can trust with some of my darkest secrets.

What I didn’t mention earlier, is that in my childhood I used to torture bugs. I used to dissect or burn them alive, or tear off wings from certain bugs, them dump them into a stirred up ant bed that I stirred up, and watch as they are eaten and stung alive, with no way to escape. That’s the sick mind I had, or still have in some degrees. This is a big reason I have always hated myself. But this stopped as I got into my mid teens, after I decided to direct my murderous hatred toward myself in order to keep myself contained, yeah that time. The time I almost took those tendencies too far, but caught on to it just in time.

Anyway, skip back to present day again, and I am writing this here post. I came here to confess all this today sense my relapse today, just prior to writing all of this. What I haven’t mentioned thus far, is that ever sense I gave up most of my music projects (I used to be in several bands to distract myself) these murderous tendencies have returned with a vengeance. That’s a big reason I finally relapsed and cut myself. I wanted to see the blood, feel the pain, but I also hated my existence on top of that- and because of that. You could say, I would watch the world burn if I could. Thing is, I really do love people. I love humans, but oddly enough, I also want to kill things. People “things”, but I choose not to. And I have never done so.

It’s sick and twisted, I know. Hence why I hate myself for it. Don’t pity me. It is like a tug of war between the real me, and the monster or even demon that wants to commit torturous murder and genocide on the world around me. But I am not stupid, I am aware that it is wrong and also have a desire to resist such filthy desires. I wrote this post in hopes of sating this evil desire, because in the last few years, I have made real and genuine progress.

Progress as in, I made made good friends, best friends even. I was raised an only child, but now I help caretake for adoptive siblings. They love me and I love them. I managed to recall my subconsciously blocked memories and accept them, and get passed them. I have even managed to become more assertive, more confident despite my self hatred, I am not suicidal anymore either. All of this has been accomplished on my own, thanks be to God, with no professional help. Not because no desire to, but because I could not afford professional help.

I am still unemployed at the moment, living with my parents. Not by choice, we live very rural. I can’t afford to take my driver’s test, either (although I know how to drive, skill-wise). And there are no real job opportunities within walking distance at all. I don’t even have a bicycle that I can ride as an alternative. But that is okay, because I have and am becoming content. I post this confession here, not to seem scary, although I know most of it probably is. I am posting this confession here so that I can keep continuing living, continuing improving, and continuing learning how to feel joy again. Thanks if you’ve managed to read this far, you’re a real giga chad. That’s all. If you happen to be a p[raying type of person, please pray for me and my fam. Thank you. Don’t give up, not all hope is always lost when it seems the case. Take care, friend.