Chapter 5-Believing and Breathing
My hands grow shaky as the days count down.
I can’t wait.
It’s like the moment of rage you feel when the anger you have is so intense that you just want to hear something break; and until you do, it’s almost as if your wind pipe is closed off. It’s as if your mind is being starved of oxygen as you think of nothing but lashing out, nothing but breathing.
Maybe you don’t know what I mean, but I’m willing to bet that you do.
I’m willing to wager that you know this feeling so well, that you felt the memory of it building up inside of you just a moment ago.
It’s probably the only time that you ever lose control, even though I would consider it more misplaced than lost.
Its the only time that your anger leads your decision making, the decision making that lacks self-control if it even exists.
As my fellow victims have implied before me, terror is the willing offspring of anger and sadness- of blind rage.
It’s called blind for a reason, you are both blind to your actions from a lack of proper thought process, as well as to the fact that you aren’t really the one to blame (but you blindly accept the guilt that clouds it). This is due to your need of pretending that you’re not falling apart under your own skin.
What can I say, we choose what we believe.
And I believe that humans should have more fingers, because I’ve already broken all of mine.
Purposely I mean, a psychopath doesn’t get hurt, he hurts himself.
That’s not what you want to think, you want to think that a crazy person is crazy because they want to do crazy things.
That they have a yearning for havoc.
But really, the only drive they have is their lack of one.
It’s hard to understand the feeling when it’s not in first person point of view, I would know considering the fact that I don’t share this characteristic.
We’ve heavily discussed motivation in my terms, trust me, there is no lack-there-of.
To bring the point back on track, I motion that you keep quiet about recent events, that you hold them inside. The deeper they go, the better.
I want the emotions that are heavy in your heart to boil and fester until you lose control over their entirety, over your entirety.
We aren’t perfect and neither are our emotions. If left untreated for long enough, they could infect your soul and lead to (the seemingly always untimely) life stage of death. You know what they say, it only takes one cut to end a lifetime.
Or in my case it only takes ten broken fingers that hurt like hell.
I just want to give you one thing, I just want you to have the understanding that trust is too easily given. Furthermore, it’s too easily given to yourself.
You aren’t wise.
You are as clueless as they come and not to be trusted, even by yourself.
The mind plays tricks, and human nature has become the backdrop in yours instead of the main focus.
Fear has become background noise. It’s just mindless chatter that makes you rethink your decision to sleep in that extra five minutes because you fear you’re going to be late for work.
It seems like a terrible waste of the one thing I would call the driving force of all lifeforms, because what is motivating you to have a better life but fear?
Insecurities, anxieties, weaknesses in general, it’s all the same thing.
It’s all fear.
But you already know that, don’t you?
I would hope you had enough information on the topic by now; given to you by yours truly, as well as my two colleagues.
I would even hope that you had an opinion on the topic as well, just as long as it doesn’t differ from mine, because that would mean that you haven’t been listening. You know what I mean by that. You know me.
I’m sure you know me better than you know the back of your own hand.
Do you see yourself as capable of killing an innocent child with little to no hesitation in order to save yourself?
If you said no, then I prove my point. If you said yes and truly believe it, then I would say that you aren’t like me; you’re not right in the head. My fear hasn’t visited you yet, and you shouldn’t be feeling that way until it does.
It’s not up to you, it’s not a matter that you can take into your own hands.
I had no right to see what this world really was until my fear allowed me to.
Unless your terror deems you worthy of the truth, you shall not receive it; if by some off chance that you do, then that means you’ve gone mad.
You aren’t deserving of reality until the time comes that dread and savagry say you are.
But don’t worry, the time will come soon enough.
The fact that you’re still reading this proves yet another one of my points, so thank you, because I love being right.
If I seem rather chipper this session, it’s only because my excitement is showing through. Sorry to disappoint you with my lack of depressing, over-repeated comments concerning your lack of self-worth, I only aim to impress.
That’s exactly why I’m about to do this.
I want my terror to cling to my actions even after there is nothing left of me, which there very possibly might not be after tomorrow...
I want my fear to learn something from me, to remember how special I am, how well I listen to every word he preached until they were the only things left repeating in my head.
Will he remember me after he moves on?
Will you remember me after you do the same?
Please don’t forget, otherwise I will die in your minds too.
It’s going to be hard to go through it tommorow; when I die, he will leave.
But I guess...so will I.