Confessions of a Killer
Not many people will ever understand what happens. Blood is finally rushing to my mind, and for the first time in seeming ages, I am thinking. I have adreneline, and motivation. There is a want, a need, something definate in my life.
It's unquestionable. The one who should be in control, finally is. There's no insecurity, there is no doubt. Only rage, hate, fear, sadness; emotions that can be handeled, dealt with, and understood. Those definable urges that anyone can relate to. They aren't AFRAID to relate to them.
There is an unreasonable amount of fear and criticism that goes along with mutilation, self-injury, whatever you wish to call it. People want to make it out to be something one wishes to get attention from, and they are entirely wrong. Sometimes it's for pain; for the pain and ache that is impossible for us to express any other way. For some it's a reality check; we are finally feeling our world, we know now that it's truly there. And for others it's an addiction; we are addicted to the rush of sprinting full force, crashing into the world we barely recognize.
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