I want to kill someone. Anyone. Many random victims. For no reason at all.
I’m twelve year old girl and I have an intoxicating lust for blood.
Part of me, somewhere deep inside, is twisted and demented. It wants for me to kidnap someone, a man or a boy my age or a little older, and chain them and hold them captive for days and days on end. And to kill them. Sometimes I want to break every bone in their body, one by one until they die of internal damages. Sometimes I want to slit their wrists and let them bleed out. Sometimes I don’t know what I want, just anything that will allow me to take my time and watch them slowly die. That’s all that wicked and evil part of me wants.
The other part of me, the part of me I identify as sane, cries foul for my fiendish desires. I tell myself that I have a wonderful life ahead of me, a brilliance that would be tarnished, goals that will be left unachieved if I screw up and get caught, which is one thing I would like to have in the end. To be locked up eventually and show the world that the young are not always innocent, that the children can be brilliant, and that the sane could possibly be insane just hiding behind a warm smile and bright eyes. I want to prove that more than anything else in the world.
Evil and darkness have always been something that’s fascinated me. I can remember when I was younger and hated all the little princesses in the Disney movies with all my heart and prayed that this time the bad guy would win. Not necessarily kill the protagonist, just rise above them just this one time. Nowadays, it does not only fascinate me, but beckons me to join them and to do as they do: murder. Then again, we are all murderers, are we not? To gossip or cheat is evil just as killing another man is evil. Can you measure evilness? If you rape a young woman, what are you taking from her? Her innocence, her emotional well-being, her once-fruitful life ahead of her? If you kill a man, what do you take from him; his family? His life, his family’s well-being, possibly even his loved one’s optimism and happiness? Which is more evil? Is there absolute evil and absolute goodness? If an act is good, how can one say this act was a greater act of goodness, when the other act was an act of goodness, too? Is evil the same way?
Something about taking another’s life, though, excites me more than the everyday gossip of junior high. I long to chain them up, gag them, speak with them gingerly as I decide to let him go and be the one that sends me behind bars or to kill him as I have the others, to see his eyes well with tears as I begin his torture, and to cry afterwards at the evil I’ve done.
The dark part of me has plotted and schemed many plans of wickedness, how to avoid leaving any clues behind that I might be the killer, and how to kill my victims. Being a young girl and daughter of a preacher is the perfect cover-up that the wickedness within my sees as a wonderful opportunity to take advantage of. It’s irresistible and intoxicating.
Random victims is only half true. There’s a haunting desire within me for the killings to be at least once, a personal murder. Perhaps my mother for denying the evil and wickedness of her ways and becoming a preacher and acting as if some things in her past had never happened. I find pretending and lying repulsive. Perhaps my father for his abuse upon me, for making me the shell of my once self. He ruined my innocence and terrorized me for ten years. Soiling your own child is cowardice and disgusting in my eyes.
Rape is tempting, but leaving any bodily secretions would rat me out, and I am much better than that.
I am an atheist and I am not known to be spiritual. I believe whatever it is that is wrong with me is psychological and is something I was born with, no magical beings whatsoever.
If anyone could help me find out what could be wrong with my mind, it would be greatly appreciated. I do know this is a major problem and would like to know what it might be that’s wrong with me and how I might be able to help myself. Psychologists are a given, all I want is to just put an end to this madness before this twisted fantasy turns into a reality and ruins the possibilities and goals I could achieve later in life.
Mature answers are appreciated. Thanks in advance.
This is, indeed, real and I am twelve years old. Have you ever considered that an 141 IQ can greatly manipulate and twist my maturity and how I appear when not in the flesh. Just because I use proper grammar and take the time to actually type the words out and explain myself as someone a few years older than me, does no necessarily make it impossible to be the age I truthfully state I am. Thank you for your time.
