Animal I Become

Was listening to Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace. Hence the title of this post. My hands are shaking, the rage is so intense in my body. Instead of “Animal I Have Become,” I’m using the present tense.

I have so much rage that I feel fuzzy minded. Everything around me is spinning, and I’m on the verge of screaming at anything going wrong. I have a fucking headache. I should probably shower soon and cleanse all this horrible energy off me.

I don’t want to go downstairs and deal with the one person who’s been a source of so much pain- my mother. It can be such a little thing that I can get mad over in the present, but the past history of our relationship is massive bullshit. I won’t bother going over the details of the specific situation because it’s not important.

What’s important is understanding the relationship in general and explaining more as to why I was triggered.

What I know is there’s been a history of physical, emotional, and financial abuse. My mom, these days, is emotionally and financially abusive. I sense that the only reason there’s no physical abuse now is because I’m bigger and can overpower her, and she can no longer get away with it. And she has this ugly tendency to paint herself as the victim.

In her mind, she’s never done anything wrong, but I have. And it will never stop.

It will never stop.

Hate admitting it, but back in the beginning of this year, I was hospitalized for homicidal ideation. Being in that mental hospital, I blocked it out after a while. The reason why I was even in there to begin with. Me throwing things down her stairs and charging down the stairs, coke in my hand, banging on her room door and threatening to kill her.

I hope I don’t lose it one of these days. I don’t think I will.

I’ll likely be laughing at her pain for the rest of my life.

Earlier, she was struggling to send an email to herself on my laptop (some stupid certificate for her work). In the beginning, I was internally laughing at her usual outbursts about anything going wrong in her world. In the middle, I was crying on the inside, wondering why she can never seem to notice my hurt. And in the end, I was angry, wondering when the hell I could go upstairs and write this on my laptop.

There would never be a time I could scream loud enough for anyone to hear me.

Perhaps this was why I always wondered if Hell existed. Wondering if my family will ever reap what they sow. If they could ever finally hear me. The constant cries for help…

I’m remembering right now what my sister did to me when I was little. She asked me to get naked for my dad, as if it was some kind of sick joke.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO???????????????”

I want to ask her and my mom and all of them.

And sadly, I will go to the grave, never knowing.