What's Hidden Inside

My world took a turn for the worst that day. All the fighting. All the shouting. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to end it all.

But how? How do I get rid of all this pain and anger that’s hidden inside me? The emotions that have been bottled up for all these years. Do you just kill it?

Some of you are probably asking yourself, what happened to me? Well, I’ll tell you.

It was one of those nights. I thought I would come home and make dinner for my parents since I knew they were exhausted from work. So I thought I should help for a change. I mean I do cook all the time but I wanted this time to be special.

I made a simple dish. Some rice, beans, and pork chops. Not too hard. Just a little time-consuming. Which I didn’t account for. My parents got home at around 6:30ish. By the time I was done the cooking, it was 7:00. Of course, my mother was pissed. She was mad about work and at dad for doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. I just added more fuel to the fire. Not on purpose though.

We ate in silence. I didn’t want to anger her any more than she already was. When I was done, I put my dishes in the sink and went to the bathroom to clean myself up a bit. At around 9:00 was when it happened.

The yelling. The constant fight between my parents. I never knew what the fights were about. And I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire so I stood in my room. After about fifteen minutes, my name was called. I prepared myself for the worst.

I walked into my parent’s room slowly. I could see the mess on the floor already. Books and papers all over the floor. Broken glass that probably came from a picture frame. I gulped and stepped inside.

“Yes, mother.”

“Why did dinner take so long?”

I didn’t answer right away. “Because I didn’t manage my time properly.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that time is not your friend?! You always wait till the last minute for everything!” Mother began to yell.

This continued for a while. The yelling. I kept my mouth shut. I was afraid I might accidentally say something I don’t mean. But she kept calling me names.

Bitch.

Slut.

Whore.

Asshole.

Monster.

A nobody.

No one will ever love you.

You’ll end up on your knees for the rest of your life.

Your future is on the corner like all the other teenage pregnant girls.

Those words really stung. How could a parent say such things to their child? My vision began to blur because of the tears forming. I choked down the sob as best as I could. It hurts. Everything hurts.

I always thought to myself how could I be those things? I’ve never had a boyfriend. I never had a guy say they liked me. I barely have friends. I work to be the best every day but it is never good enough. My 100% will never be good enough for her. Why? Why is it not good enough? What did I ever do wrong? All I ever wanted was to make her happy so why?

Once I heard her yelling at my father:

“Why do you treat that little bitch like a princess? She doesn’t do anything but sit on her fat ass all day!”

He simply replies, “I don’t treat her like a princess. I do reprimand her when she does something wrong.”

“Well obviously you talking to her isn’t working. You treat her so damn well you might as well fuck her too. Since I, your wife, don’t mean anything to you.”

“That’s not true!” He would tell her. But did she listen? No. Instead, she threw a tantrum and broke things. Yelling and screaming. Saying she doesn’t care anymore. Saying she wanted a divorce. Saying she was going to kill herself by jumping in front of a bus.

Did she do any of that? No. Why would she? I know deep down she still loves us. That’s why I put up with the verbal abuse. I’ve been dealing with it all my life. It doesn’t bother me anymore.

So why did it now?

Was it because of the names? No.

Was it because of her tantrum? No.

Was it because she said she didn’t love me anymore? Maybe.

Why did it hurt so much? I don’t know. I still don’t know to this day. One thing for sure though. Something happened that day that made me snap. Finally breaking down after years of abuse. I couldn’t take it anymore. I just snapped.

She went to hit me so I instinctively blocked and pushed her away. She was shocked. She punched me in the face. Hard. So I hit her back. Continuously. Not stopping. Never stopping. I wanted her dead. I wanted her to feel my pain. All of my emotions escaped at once. I was blinded by rage. My body shook as I laughed.

Laugh you ask? Yes, laugh. I finally broke. I wasn’t the same little girl who kept her mouth shut. No. I voiced my opinions loud in clear.

I called her a bitch.

A whore.

An abuser.

Slut.

I continued to curse her out. I didn’t care anymore.

Feel my pain bitch. Feel my pain.

No that’s not right. I grabbed something. I don’t remember what. But I hit her with it. And it felt good. So I did it again. And again. And again. There was nothing that could stop me. My dad tried to stop us. Kept yelling for us to stop but we still continued.

It was either kill or be killed. So I went on the attack. Laughing as I hit her. This is fun I thought. I always wondered. Was this how she felt? Was it fun to tear me apart with her words?

She began to cry. Why? Why? She shouted at me.

What do you mean why? Are you asking why I hit you? Why did I yell at you? Cursed at you? Was it only fair? I am only doing to you what you did to me.

“Does it hurt?” I asked. Not out of love or care. But for pleasure. I was happy when she said yes. That it hurt. That I caused pain.

“Good” was all I said to her. “That’s good.”

I stopped only for a second to think but that’s when it became clear. I was a monster. I became exactly what she said I was. All I did was prove her right. That’s not what I wanted.

I shouted and screamed as I held my head. Say no. No. No. Tears fell and rage built up again.

I refuse to let her win. She’s wrong. She’s wrong. But was she?

I remember that day very clearly in my mind. The day I killed her. I ran away that day. I’ve never stepped foot in my hometown since then. I’ve been on the run and now for the rest of my life, I must run. That’s if I don’t want to be caught. That day I learn something. You could never be truly happy. True happiness doesn’t exist. You could only feel happy if you bring others down.

I am a broken spirit. I’ve probably gone insane. I kill people because it’s fun. I love to paint people with their own blood. It’s fun I’d say. I laugh as I rip people’s throats out.

Why you ask? Because I have nothing to live for anymore. Life isn’t worth living.

I only punish parents who have been naughty. Bad parents I would say. It’s not nice to abuse your child.

Some think what I am doing is right while others think it was wrong. I don’t care what you think because my thoughts are all that matter. Mine and mine alone.

If you don’t like it, then die.

Ever since that day, I’ve become a homicidal maniac and you can thank my mother for that.