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Consumer 6
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Joined: Wed Jan 12, 2011 5:04 pm
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- January 2013
An Obsession With Murder
   Thu Jan 31, 2013 10:48 am
Behind The So-Called 'Mask'
   Mon Jan 28, 2013 1:36 am

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An Obsession With Murder

Permanent Linkby Demon on Thu Jan 31, 2013 10:48 am

I started having violent thoughts when I was quite young. I use to draw pictures of naked and semi naked women being mauled to death by wolves. I remember one of my babysitters being very concerned over the pictures. She never babysat us again after that.

As a child I was fascinated by death or rather, the process of dying. I liked watching things die. I can't explain why, but it still fascinates me to this day. When I was young I started killing insects in different ways so I could watch them die. This led to hurting and killing animals as I got older. As a teenager, having been raised around violence and abuse, I began having violent fantasies towards my family.

I experienced my first homicidal urge 24 years ago, at the age of 16. I wanted to tie my family up in the lounge room and burn the house down with them in it. The house actually did catch fire sometime after I had left home. Everybody who was in it at the time survived though.

At some point I started fantasizing about shooting my mother's boyfriend's mother because she was a real bitch. I had access to a gun, so I wrote her name on one of the bullets. My mother, who had come over to see me that day for some reason (I had already left home at that stage), found the bullet, but didn't get angry at me over it. She hated the woman as much as I did. So, I doubt she would have cared if I had killed her. Fortunately for the woman, I didn't end up killing her.

As I got older, my interest in murder became more than just seeking a means to an end. My attention turned to attractive strangers. The murder fantasies became intertwined with my sexual fantasies and the anger I experienced while growing up. The beast within grew a hunger for power, control and hedonistic desire.

For 24 years now I've been experiencing homicidal fantasies and urges to kill. When the urges get real bad they're harder to control. Controlling them becomes literally tormenting to the point where I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I don't find some release. Anger and aggression builds up like a ticking time bomb.

Sometimes I feel like I've been cursed and I wish that I didn't experience these homicidal urges at all. The fantasies themselves aren't really the problem. I enjoy having them, but the fantasy is only satisfying to a point. I have more than a desire to kill people these days. It has become what feels like a compulsive need.

I feel like I'm on a path to self-destruction. Everything that used to work as a release, doesn't work anymore. There's a part of me that wants to stop wanting to kill people because I know that it could end very badly for me. I just wish I could satisfy my urges in a way that won't involve the possibility of life in prison.
Last edited by WichitaLineman on Thu Jan 31, 2013 10:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Behind The So-Called 'Mask'

Permanent Linkby Demon on Mon Jan 28, 2013 1:36 am

A lot of people don't seem to be able to relate to me, so I figured the best place to start a blog here would be to explain why I am the way I am.

I spent the first 17 years of my life being raised around violence and abuse. The abuse I experienced was both physical and psychological. Unlike most children, I didn't have a family that treated me with respect and love. I felt very much alone while growing up because the family that was supposed to care about me, didn't exist. My father had mental health issues and committed suicide when I was very young and my mother, it seems, is incapable of loving anyone.

Sometime after my father killed himself, my mother met the man who would become my brother's father. He was an abusive asshole who I remember watching, as a toddler, beat the shlt out of my mother numerous times. Eventually it got so bad that one day my mother decided to pack up and make a run for it while my brother's father was at work. She took my brother and I with her and we all hid from him any place we could because my mother knew if he found us all, he would likely try to kill us. From what I was told, he had threatened to kill her several times before she finally left him. Time passed and eventually he got caught breaking the law and got sentenced to 10 years in prison for it.

You'd think my mother would have learnt from that experience, but she didn't. Every man she hooked up with was an abusive prick. My mother became an alcoholic who would often be gone all day due to work and then come home drunk late at night. She would occasionally bring home some random guy who would take advantage of her in her drunken state. It seemed to me like my mother was whoring herself to any man willing to use her and I despised her for that. She seemed to care more about alcohol and the men she was fuking than she did about my brother and I.

When my mother couldn't afford a babysitter, we were often left at home alone and had to look after ourselves. One day my mother dropped my brother and I off at a playground when I was about 8 years old and she left us there all day without any adult supervision. I personally think she was hoping somebody would take us and she would finally be rid of us for good. By the time my mother finally came back, it was cold and getting on dark and all my brother and I could do was hug each other to keep warm. I'll never forget that day because I knew then my mother didn't really want us.

My mother made me feel like I was a burden to her. She would treat me as though my life didn't matter. I was insignificant. I was the result of an unwanted pregnancy that ruined her dreams and I believe she resented me for that. During an argument once she told me that I should never have been born. My mother and I used to argue a lot and she basically kicked me out at 17. I started drinking heavy to the point of blacking out. I was getting into fights and had to move back home again because I had nowhere else to go. I lost track of the number of times I moved in and out of home due to the trouble I kept getting into. My mother would take me in each time, until I had enough money to move out again. Eventually it got to the point where I was told that I was never allowed home again. I did end up returning though after I fell pregnant with my daughter.

My daughter's future father at the time was a rough looking guy who had been in and out prison. To explain what he looked like, imagine a white guy with a hard face, a shaved head and tattoos on his arms and legs. When I first saw him I was working outside on my motorcycle and he decided to stop and chat with me. I thought he was a biker at first. Turned out he couldn't ride for shlt. Some of his mates were bikers though and the conversation just went on from there. He seemed like a decent guy at first, so we started dating. He wasn't abusive until I fell pregnant with my daughter. That was the trigger that set him off. When I first told him about the pregnancy, he seemed...

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