Frozen in time

Remorse. The last of my feeling that I want to erase. It's such a beautiful word to me though, remorse. For things I've done and said, for everything that continuously weighs me down because I've been tactless, careless or downright evil. And it's of course a matter of interpretations how evil my acts of violence and law breaking actually were, but in my world, hurting the innocent for no good reason at all is pretty evil.

I would say that I have like a demon in me, but that would be weird all things considering and I don't believe that all demons are evil. No, let me instead phrase it as a monster, it's the best word I can find, that tears and destroys, and blackens my sight from time to time. When I was there, in the heat of the moment, it was as if that monster took over and I lost all the little control I had. I wasn't thinking straight, barely thinking at all.

Those were acts of psychopathy, acts that often serial killers do before they start killing people. But I hope, and believe, that I was never doomed to get worse in that sense. It was not a part of my path, I was not to become a serial killer or to repeat the crimes I did commit. No one ever found out, I was never punished for it, other than by myself and my own toxic thoughts.

In a way I can never forgive myself for what I did, and maybe I just really fucking shouldn't either, but also I do believe that I somehow am not a bad person despite all the horrible things I've done. I cannot for the life of me tell you what it was, not that second thing. You'd hate me. I'm sure, so fucking sure, that there would not be an inch of you that could ever forgive me for that. It was against everything I've been claiming to stand for.

People like me, good people, inherently good people, just don't do that kind of shit. It goes against everything I've been taught and everything I believe. Or want to believe at least. Perhaps you can guess your way to it, but that's not my problem. What I did was so fucking wrong that... there... I just don't have words for it. I cannot understand why on Earth I went ahead and did it. There's not an inch of me that can justify that act of violence.

And as I cannot justify it, nor can I accept or understand it. It was truly a what the fuck moment of the worst kind you could possibly imagine. What's worse than a sex crime? So horribly bad that I can't even mention it? Snuffing out innocence, that's all I can say, and it's a metaphor.

It does tear me apart, more often than I even realise. But the memory is fading, gradually as the years pass by. I'm pretty sure I did it 2011 but I'm no longer certain. Could have been 2012 too. So it was pretty damn recent, I didn't think I had that kind of evil within me. I have seen evil right in the eyes, faced it and followed it through. I've done so many good things, but the bad ones always outweigh the good ones. Especially when they're that bad.

I rarely ever write about that thing, but maybe, just maybe I'm trying to reconcile with myself somehow lately. I have to be able to look myself in the eyes one day and say that this is me and I became what I became. No matter how much awfulness I have to deal with first. I try to deal with it, the only way I can, through writing about it. Sharing some of it with you. It's like therapy for me, except it's more like it's just me talking and not so much me getting response. I won't have to deal with the law if that would ever be on the table.

Cause I'd much rather die than end up paying for my crimes. That's not the kind of reconciling I'm talking about. No, I'm trying to find some kind of peace, or calm, within myself, for myself. I think this society and its regulations suck and I want nothing to do with it. I'm purely doing this for me, not the ones I hurt. Perhaps that is very selfish, but it's just the way it is. I just know that I need to find that peace or calm of some kind before I die.

Or maybe I end up killing myself because I'll realise that that's what I can't find, no matter what. That I'm simply too damn broken to exist. Sometimes it actually does take years before you get that "what have I done" -feeling, it can take ages before you're able to remember and or feel what you felt back then. Remorse can come long after, and it's my belief, that that's the only reason I've been able to live with myself up until now.

It is indeed getting harder. The more I dig, the harder it is to even possibly let go. Time heals no wounds for me, it tears open old scars and lets them bleed until I can't take it anymore. Especially all that crap that I never once dealt with. How do you even deal with things so horrible that you can't tell anyone about them?

I wish I could tell someone. Someone I felt I could trust and who wouldn't take it the wrong way. Who wouldn't frown upon me and think of me as a piece of shit, and the scary thing is that I don't think I know such a person. Not even my best friend, I'm so scared what she would think of me. Not even K, I'm scared he would abandon me over it. Definitely not my mother, she would freak to an extent that I can't even begin to imagine and I very rarely see her freak out.

It's all tied to my family too, one way or another, so they of all people definitely cannot ever know. But it's tearing me apart and inside out, carrying this burden that is heavier than the entire world. I haven't told anyone so far, so why is it so hard to take it with me to the grave? Perhaps somehow, I think you have the right to know. Not the entire world, but some of you. The ones I do trust to at least some degree, the ones I love endlessly and who somehow manage to love me back.

If you do love me, don't you then have the right to know what's been driving me off the edge almost every day for soon 3 years?

What made me so certain that I was a monster, a sociopath, a genuinely bad person. What should have, or could have, made me unlovable. The people I used to hang out with have almost all been good people. At heart. They would never even think about doing what I did. No one in their right mind ever would. Am I just crazy, or what the fuck is wrong with me? Why oh why did I get that urge to hurt those that I hurt is such blind rage and with such a stone cold heart?

Nope, I can't understand it, not at all. I went from white to pitch black in a split second and was then thrown back into a reality I couldn't handle, the reality of what I had done. And it never fucking leaves me alone anymore. Every day when I log into the ED forum there's a thread that says something like "what secrets are eating away at you?" and it just sinks in my heart every time I see it. I want to tell them but then I just... can't.

And I can't tell my shrink either, still afraid of the law. But there's no proof, no evidence, no witness, no nothing. I'm still scared. But mostly I'm just scared of what will become of me as these memories and these thoughts just keep on intensifying until I fucking break down for good. I cannot allow myself to fully feel, but just nibbling on the feelings puts me in a state of anxiety too powerful to overcome.

Remorse... I do feel it. For everything that's happened, everything I've done. I don't know if any of this text was understandable in the least, but I just needed to vent. I have so much pressure inside me that venting is hardly enough, but it's better than nothing. I think I purposely let my memories destroy me just as much as they create me. They're a part of who I am, not everything, but a part. I value all of my memories very highly and easily get very affected by them therefore. I can never put it to rest, I can never move on.