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That's always the exception, isn't it..? "It's okay to be broken, until you break the people who broke you." Doesn't anyone ever wonder about what actually happens in a rapist's mind? A serial killer's..? No, of course not. Normal people just sit on the sidelines, screaming Death with raised fists full of hate. People who consider them, even just a bit, condone rape, murder, and the abuse of children. Maybe mental illness isn't meant to be pretty. Maybe we're not all beautiful teenage girls with brown hair and brown eyes and skinny bodies and pretty faces. Maybe we're not content to sit in corners and cry and cower in fear. Maybe there isn't "help" for us; pedophiles can't get "help". They get arrested just for admitting an attraction to children, even if they've never seen child pornography or abused a child. Serial killers are just villains to everyone. They just have "no respect" for human life, or they're "full of hate". "Sickos", that's what they call people like me. People who can't stop the flood of spite and hate and rage. People who see beauty in broken bodies and weeping mothers and screaming fathers. People who spend their days tangled in an endless web created from threads of self-loathing and wonder and misery with lonely silences to fill the gaps. People like me, ugly and mean and crude and fat on the outside, all our beauty trapped within.
No one understands what it is to live a single day in my mind, my body. This form is a prison. There is not enough space to express all that I feel, and it overwhelms me every second of a minute of an hour of each day. It's torture, having a conversation with someone you want to be with and all you can imagine is how badly you would like to hurt him. "That's not love," people would say as they recoiled with horror. "Monsters like you cannot love at all, only hurt and kill and destroy." But I do love. I love, and I hate. I want to break other people down. Show them how I feel. All of it. Every last scrap of myself, pouring into your eyes and ears until it spills out your mouth and you choke. One day, feeling this shame and emptiness. Just a single night, that would be enough for you to understand. A fraction of what I suffer, knowing that I do not belong here nor anywhere else.
Knowing that I can only be allowed to live if I kill myself inside every single day.
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That's interesting. I don't know what it's like being you, that's a given. But I do fathom what it's like to be shunned and attacked and socially repulsed because of particular traits. That being said, I don't think the tendency to do atrocious things such as killing and raping is ever going to be considered "okey". Although it's true that such "tendencies" are a part of the human condition, none can they deny their existence and none can stop their emergence, ever. It's nature, I suppose. You'd most likely be hunted down if you were to force your urges on other people, no matter how long you've been restraining yourself, such beahvior will not be tolerated because if it were to be allowed humanity wouldn't last. Perhaps someday you'll find someone who's willing to consensually receive the entirety of your emotions. Until then, thread carefully.
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