Tryptamine*Dreamer
Ex-Bluelighter
This is a confession of many wicked and cruel acts I have committed in the past – extremely cruel things I have done to people and animals in the past. I have had this inner darkness inside of me for a long time. I never really talked about it to anyone – maybe little bits and pieces, but none of you know what kind of monster I used to be. I feel like I changed a long time ago and I do not want to do anything to cause any other being to suffer in any way. I have wanted to come clean about these things for a long time but my shame and guilty feelings prevented me from doing this.
This is a long read but if you just read the first part and skip the rest, you really won’t understand where I am coming from or what I mean. If you don’t have the time, just don’t read it at all. The first part is just some background information that somewhat explains why I did the things I did. I guess the reason I am letting this out now is due to a really powerful trip I had just a few nights ago. I relived a lot of these bad things during that trip. I had other mindstates where I felt as if I were the one getting that treatment. I also experienced being in other horrific places, times, and events that have occurred through history. Just one example was an experience of being a Jew in a Nazi death camp during the Holocaust. These things had much more impact on me perhaps than any other trip in my life(except the first trip I had), partly because I was unaware that it wasn’t really happening – I did not know that I was tripping and it was just the effects of the drugs. This made it seem like it was completely real. I actually thought these things were really happening.
This is not a trip report – there will be one, but right now it is just an admission of the truly evil things I have done. I have seen some posts on Bluelight and received private messages from people who think I am a good person. Someone actually said I was inspirational (I have no idea why – I am generally very depressed, pessimistic, self destructive, and often suicidal. I even do things I know are dangerous just to see what happens – sometimes it is with drugs, but it is much more often other things – standing out in a lightning storm with a tall metal pole in my hands, raised in the air or injecting a mixture of water, feces, and other dirty things in my feet just to see if it will cause septicemia). I have not done those things in quite a while. I am sure those people just do not know the things I have done. I really do not care if the things I say here inspire anyone to hate me or not.
I guess I will just start at the beginning.
I really loved and cared about animals since I can remember. My parents were different. Any time an animal got sick, they would take it off somewhere and dump it – just leaving it to die. Animals were not worth enough to spend money to treat their sickness. They could very easily be replaced. The same thing went for any animal they decided they did not want. It did not affect me much until I was maybe 8 years old because I did not know what they were doing. Once I realized what was happening, it was really painful emotionally for me. I never spoke out against it until I was 15 years old. My brother would freely express his opinions on whatever he felt about this and other things. He did not pretend to agree with everything my mom said – this went for pretty much anything. I could see what he got as a result of expressing disagreement on various different issues and things he thought were morally wrong and he would also express his differing views or beliefs about things in general. He is two years older than me. He was like that when I was four or five years old. I could see how he was punished for doing so. Usually this consisted of a fairly normal spanking and a long rant from my mom about how wrong he was and frequently he would be told he would go to Hell for it. Whenever Hell was brought up, there would be vivid descriptions of the eternal torture he had coming. On some occasions, the punishment was more severe – what I would clearly call child abuse. Not really severe beatings, but definitely crossing the line. She would be emotionally cold toward him for it and not show any love. I was too afraid of ending up like him, so I just pretended to agree with everything she said. I was treated really well and given plenty of love as long as I did this. One of the scariest things I saw was my mom yelling and screaming at him for something. She had this big long butcher knife in her hand. He was holding this doll(one of those Buddy dolls that were popular back then). She was talking about cutting him and making him bleed and cry – I thought she meant my brother. I thought she was going to kill him. She was actually talking about the Buddy doll but I was extremely terrified by this. I was 3 or 4 years old at the time – it is one of my earliest memories.
This is a brief side note that has nothing to do with my horrific acts of cruelty – I will get to that in a minute. My dad scared me much worse – he was always threatening to kill my mom and sometimes my brother and I. Another very early memory of mine was when I was in bed with my mom and getting ready to sleep. I was four years old at this time. My dad was on a rampage. It was truly terrifying. One of the things he told my mom was that she better not go to sleep. He told her if she did, she would wake up on fire. I really thought he was going to set the house on fire and I would burn to death. He made similar threats all through my early childhood. He may have been telling her that because my mom’s dad died from burns in a house fire when she was a little girl. He was getting my mom, his other kids, and his wife out of the house – my mom saw what happened to him and also saw a cat on fire, in agony as it died, making horrifying cries and sounds from the pain (she did not tell me what had happened to her dad until I was older). I really believed he was going to murder me, my mom, and my brother from the time I was 4 until maybe I was 10.
I did express my feelings and opinions some when I was little, and I would be punished. Just relatively minor spankings – it was the vivid descriptions of what would happen to me when I went to Hell that really scared me. She would also give me the same cold treatment she gave my brother if I expressed any disagreement. I did not want her to stop loving me.
I do want to state that my mom was severely abused when she was a child, much worse than anything she did to my brother. She also told me when I was a teenager that her mom did not care about her or her sisters. Her mom did not want any girls, only boys. She was shown no love from her mom when she was a kid and the abuse she described getting would definitely be torture in my opinion. She was probably that way because of her terrible trauma. I should also state that she treated my brother well as long as he went along with what she said. It was like she wanted us to be clones of her and not have any individuality. We were pretty much expected to be exactly like her. We needed to like what she liked and hate what she hated.
I know from what I say, it sounds like my mom is an evil monstrosity – that is not the case. She has completely changed since then. She is nice to everyone and really tolerant toward people who have much different beliefs. She came to accept people as they are. She pretty much does anything she can to help out other people. She openly expresses love to my brother and tries to help him in any way she can. She has become very caring toward animals, she treats them very well, she provides them with anything they need, including health care – even when it is a real financial burden. She is not like she used to be – she is very compassionate and pretty much radiates love and positivity. I have never seen anyone make such a transformation. Frankly, it is difficult for me to believe that anyone could be capable of such transformation. She has also become the most optimistic and hopeful person I know. I truly mean that – I could be a good person and become happy if I had even one tenth of her positivity.
Now I will get back to what I did. Once I realized the animals were just being disposed of – left to die – it was profoundly hurtful to me. My personal pets were safe – she never did it to my animals. That did not matter much because I cared just as much about the others. Often, they did not want to go out and beat the dogs when they were barking. She would make me do it for her. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I did not want to end up like my brother. Having to abuse the animals like that and deal with knowing about the ones left alone to die was just intolerable.
I had to get rid of my feelings and compassion just to survive. I had to make myself hate animals. I went about this by telling myself how much I hated them and then I would beat them and abuse them in various ways while keeping my mind filled with hate. I started the process when I was 10 years old. At the beginning, I only did this to animals I knew were going to be disposed of. It was really hard to do at first, but I eventually just stopped caring completely.
When I was 11, my mom had a couple of pigeons kept in a small cage. They were out in the open with no protection from the elements. I really wanted to do something to help them because I felt really bad about it. I did nothing though. I felt completely powerless. I had to stop caring. I started doing really bad things to them – spraying them full blast with a waterhose when it was cold, poking them with sticks, and shaking the cage really hard. I would feel bad about what I did, but pretty soon I had eliminated the feeling. By that time, I had killed one of them. I was not trying to, but I kept spraying it with water in the winter and it died. My heart was dead to love by then and I did not care.
I still cared about my cat. I never hurt it. It did get sick though. It needed surgery to remove a tumor from its bladder. It would cost $500. I wanted my mom to help it. I tried to get her to, but it did not work. After it died, I took a bottle of Tylenol pills to see if it would make me die. My thought at the time was that if I had some purpose in life, I would live. If not, I would die. I did not know what would happen. I usually don’t consider this to be a real suicide attempt.
I continued having to beat the dogs, but I no longer cared. I noticed that I would start feeling bad about the situation again if I went very long without making them suffer. By now, I was 12 years old. I was doing all kinds of things to hurt myself. Most commonly, I would stick needles in my body and heat them with a cigarette lighter to make it burn in me. I started using those methods on animals to keep myself from caring. I did not care about animals at all anymore. I actually started hating them. I continued abusing them until I was almost 14. At that time, I just felt completely alone. All the people around me were emotionally abusive to me. Animals had never done anything bad to me. I completely lost my ability to express emotions. I lost the ability to feel loved. I kept all my feelings and thoughts to myself.
My mom got a couple of dogs. I did not allow myself to care about them for a while. I really wanted something I could love and something that would love me without hurting me. I secretly started spending time with the dogs and I started to feel less alone. I still had to beat them. My mom made me do it. Every time I had to beat them, I would go as soon as possible to be with them and be nice to them. They still liked me and wanted the affection that I gave them, even though I was beating them frequently. The beatings were pretty brutal. I had to use these whips on them. If I did not beat them enough to make them stop barking, my mom would beat them even worse. Sometimes I would be watched while I did it. If I did not do it good enough, my mom would do it worse and tell me how I should do it next time.
I finally gained the courage to tell her I did not like it. I just exploded with anger on her. I rarely got any kind of corporal punishment - I would not do or say anything that I thought might result in that. My mom told me to get the Bible and pray out loud to God. She told me what I was supposed to say. I don’t remember what it was now, but I do remember saying what she wanted me to say would be a lie – she was wanting me to lie to God. I had started hating God years before that and I really did not think there was a God at that point. I refused to do it and I told her God is dead. Not a good idea. She had this tree branch that she used on my brother. She made me pull my pants and underwear down. She swung that thing as hard as she could (at least it felt like it). She counted with every strike until 50. It left a lot of welts (a lot of them bleeding a little) and bruises. She then poured rubbing alcohol all over them. This was the only time she did anything nearly that bad to me. My capacity to love her or any other person was really diminished. I was suicidal at that point, but I kept it to myself.
The dogs were kept on short chains, and they were big German Shepherds. They were mostly barking because they did not like being tied up, I think. Probably also due to a lack of attention. I was the only one that had anything to do with them and I was afraid to let anyone see that I cared about them. I don’t know why. Due to that, I really did not spend much time with them.
One of the dogs got loose one day and killed a chicken. The dog got the worst beating of its life (not by me, my mom and brother did it). She said she was getting rid of it. I almost chose to kill myself. Nobody knew I was depressed though, I pretended to be happy. I hid it well.
I had to make myself hate that dog. This is some of the worst things I ever did. I would beat the hell out of it every day, multiple times. I would pour boiling water on its legs. I did other bad things – I think I did something worse than that but I can’t remember what it was. I had made myself hate it within a week. A few days later, it was taken away and dumped. I did not care at all. I felt nothing.
There was still the other dog that I still cared about. I continued to spend time with him when nobody was around. I still had to beat him, but he still just wanted me to be with him.
I did not mention this, but there were also times when my mom would not buy food for the dogs. They would frequently go 3 or 4 days without food and sometimes a week. I would give them some food from the house when nobody was around. One time, they were out of food for at least 10 days. I kept trying to get my mom to buy food for them. After about a week, I lost my temper with her and said some mean nasty things. She gave me a big lecture on how we did not have enough money for that and was just cold toward me for a couple of days. This was shortly after she got the two German shepherds.
I continued spending time with the white German shepherd. I fortunately did not have to beat it any more. It wasn’t long till it got sick after that. I told my mom I thought it was sick. She was becoming at least a little caring toward it. She would not take it to a vet, but she did at least try to help it. This was the first time I remember her not having a dog dumped off when it was sick. I would go out with it every night for a long time during its sickness. About a week into it, I was looking out the window. I could see it having difficulty walking. I knew it was probably dying. For a couple of hours, I just kept looking out at it but I was afraid to go out there. I did after a while. I tried to make him feel better, but there really was nothing I could do. I just stayed out there with it while it died. The last half hour or so was really bad. I am not sure what was wrong with the dog, but it was suffering a lot and making really bad sounds. I was just watching it die. Right before it died, it went into convulsions (I had I cat that died in a similar way when I was six years old. It was in front of a glass screen door. I could see this big thunderstorm cloud through the window. The cat started just rolling around, making really bad sounds. Its whole body started convulsing and it was dead after a few minutes.) I think it lost consciousness at that point. It really looked horrible. I decided I wanted to die to.
I just went back in after it died. I did not say anything about it. My mom got kind of upset when she found out. I guess she did care some about that dog. She had actually had a little to do with it during the month or so before it died.
At this time, my dad was really acting violent. He was on the rampage for a couple of weeks. My brother did something to make him mad one day. He started punching him in the head and banging his head against the wall. My mom and I tried to make him stop, and he did quit after a minute. He kept telling people if they did not leave they would be taken out in body bags.
About two weeks after the dog died, I found a patch of Amanita Virosa (Destroying angel – same toxins as the Death Cap) mushrooms. I ate maybe five or six of them. I just went about my normal business like nothing was wrong, just waiting for them to kill me. I was really sick after a few hours. I was extremely sick for a long time after that. I was vomiting profusely. I had hallucinations the first night and was just out of my head. For over a week, I did not pee at all. I would shit out profuse amounts of clear liquid. It was the worst suffering I had experienced at that point in my life. I knew it could take a couple of weeks to die, so I just waited patiently for death. Nobody knew why I was sick and I did not say a word. I was getting better after about 3 weeks. I was unable to eat at all the first 3 weeks. The last time I vomited was more than a month after the poisoning. I tried to kill myself again about two months after that poisoning.
I no longer cared about anything. I don’t know why, but I tortured a baby chicken to death. I did not enjoy it, but I did not feel anything at all.
I had no more to do with any animal until I was 16.
Sometime after I turned 15, I started developing psychotic depression. I also became very mean to everyone. I hated everyone. I would yell and scream in rage for hours every day. I would tell my parents I wanted them to die. I would describe how I wanted them to die. Just an example of the kind of things I would say to my mom: “I would like to tie you down and rape you. I want to slit your throat and feel the warm blood flowing on my hands. I’ll look into your dying eyes and laugh. I’ll mutilate your corpse and throw it in a ditch.” I would constantly talk about wanting everyone to die. I was always talking about suicide. I kept telling her she should have had an abortion. I would tell her that she should have dumped me in a garbage can when I was born because that is where I belonged. I was constantly describing in vivid detail how I wanted her to die. She would start crying and I would just laugh at her and scream for her to weep. I actually felt good when I said those things. I would then go to my room and feel really bad about it. In reality, I was just hoping like Hell that somebody would help me. I was extremely depressed and full of sorrow for the way I had been treating people. I really did not want to be so mean, but I just could not control it.
I was paranoid and delusional. I am not going to describe that in detail – I thought cameras and microphones were everywhere. I thought people knew what I was thinking. I believed I was dying from brain cancer. I thought there was someone in the attic watching images from hidden cameras. I would hear voices saying really bad things about me. Sometimes the voice would tell me to kill myself.
Around this time, my mom got another dog. I would abuse it just to keep myself from caring about it. That was the only way I knew how to avoid having feelings for it. I eventually stopped that and started to care about the dog. This time, nobody was doing anything bad to the dog and I stopped being afraid to let myself care about it. It was not put on a chain, at least for a while. I continued to be hateful and mean to people, but not the dog. Eventually, my mom put it on a short chain – maybe 10 feet long. This dog was also a German shepherd. It made me feel more depressed because the dog was not happy. My mom would occasionally let it loose for a short time, but for the most part, I was the only one that had much to do with it. A few months later, it went missing. It was not because my mom got rid of it – someone took the dog and chained it to the back of a truck. They drove down the road, dragging it. It was pretty much torn apart. Its dead body was found later. Nobody could find out who did that.
That left me unable to feel any positive emotions. The only things I could feel was profound depression, hatred, rage, and extreme paranoia.
My mom got another German shepherd shortly after that. I made sure not to care about it. I did not hurt the dog though.
I was still in a state of psychotic depression. Over the last year, I had severe insomnia as well. I would often go a week or more without sleeping at all. I would talk about wanting horrible things to happen – for many people to die. One of the things I kept saying I wanted was for airplanes to crash into skyscrapers. I would list specific buildings. A number of times, it was the world trade center buildings. This was before 9/11.
I did not think about the dog at all until my mom put it on a really short chain. It would bark all day and all night. At first, I was just pissed off because of the noise. It was almost constant. I truly hated that dog. I started just beating the hell out of it. I eventually started feeling sorry for the dog though. I did not hurt it for the barking after that. One day, I just exploded in rage at my mom. I told her if she did not make that dog shut up, I would kill her. I grabbed a knife and started waving it in her face and screaming at the top of my lungs. I had been ingesting poisonous substances in secret every day for a long time at that point and injecting dirty things into my body in an attempt to cause septicemia or cancer. I had a bunch of needles embedded deep in my body(I actually kept doing that to myself until last year. I had to have xrays a short time back and there were 24 found. There are a lot more in other parts of my body that were not xrayed). (I was not using drugs, my mom would keep calves and she had needles to give them shots – I started injecting dirty things into my body with those). There was a tube of roach killing gel. I picked it up, laughed in her face, then swallowed the whole tube while she watched. After that, I took the knife and cut the dogs collar off. I came back in, broke a glass, and started stabbing shards of glass into my arms and neck. She was going toward the phone. I ripped that out of the wall and smashed it. I told her that if she tried to call anyone I would kill myself. I told her if she sent me to a mental institution, I would kill her as soon as I got out. She started sobbing and sat on the couch. I started laughing at her.
After a few minutes, I calmed down some and then I told her how I felt. She had no idea that I felt bad for the dog. I told her that I would not tolerate it any more.
She started leaving the dog loose at night. I thought my mom was going to commit suicide, and I kept telling her I was going to kill myself if she died.
I started to spend time with the dog. I was constantly doing all kinds of things to hurt myself because every time I did something painful to my body it would make me feel better. My brother had been gone a long time, and came back around then. I had nothing at all to do with him. I had lost all my feelings for him. He ran up a bill of over $800 using phone sex and pay per view porn. He had no job. I had to pay for all his porn. I exploded in anger and treated him really bad. That drove him away. He quickly ended up in prison. That would not have happened if I had not been so mean. It is my fault he went back to prison.
Now, back to the dog. The dog was the only thing that I felt actually cared about me. I logically knew that my mom loved me but I could not feel it at all. I did still love her, even though I treated her like trash. I was blaming my depression on the things my parents put me through, and I often wanted to make them suffer for how they made me suffer. I continued to be mean to them.
I was still having delusional thoughts. I believed the dog was really depressed. I thought it wanted to die. I was thinking about a way to kill the dog so it would not suffer. At the same time, I was doing more self harm. The pain made me feel better. I got the idea in my mind that I could make the dog feel better the same way. I started sticking needles in him (not embedding them deep so they won't come out - I only did that to myself) and pinching him really hard. The dog did react to the pain, sometimes whimpering or crying out, sometimes I would hurt him bad enough that it sounded like a tormented yelp. When I got him that bad, he would back away but he would come right back. I knew I went too far when he reacted like that and it was making him hurt too much, that would always make me feel really bad and I never wanted to make it that painful. I knew from my own self inflicted pain that there is a level at which the suffering from the physical pain outweighs the mood improving effects. In my warped mind, I truly thought I was helping him. What I was doing to him was very painful, but he would tolerate what I did and never stopped loving me. He never even appeared to be afraid of me. I felt like this was making him less depressed. The fact that he would just stay there without trying to get away and never tried to bite me for it served as a confirmation in my mind that it was making him feel better. I know now that my feeling that he was severely depressed was a psychotic delusion of mine. I was torturing him. I caused him immense suffering. I am truly regretful of what I did. I really loved that dog. He really loved me too, and I did not deserve his love.
I would always be really affectionate toward the dog after I did those things. Sometimes I would just embrace him for a long time. I would often just put my face in his fur and weep. I had lost the ability to cry for a long time. I don't think I would have been able to cry without him. I wanted to cry a lot because I would feel better afterwards. I may not have cried even once in 2 or 3 years at that point - it was like I was too depressed to even cry - that probably sounds bizarre, but that is how it was. I have gotten in that state a few times after that as well. I only lose the ability to cry when I am in the darkest, deepest states of depression. I inflicted a lot of pain on the dog every night. This is difficult for me to think about, but sometimes I would spend as long as maybe 30 minutes jabbing the dog with needles and pinching his legs really hard. There were times when it hurt him enough that he would be limping, sometimes for several days. I do not know why the dog did not bite me for it, run away, or just avoid me completely. I really thought I was making the dog feel better – doing it to myself made my mood better.
The dog still liked me and just wanted to be with me. Maybe the dog could tell that I felt bad. Maybe he just wanted the attention so bad that he tolerated the bad treatment. I would do this in the cellar. The dog would come down there with me. I was doing significantly worse things to my own body and the dog would often watch me while I did it. I don’t know if he somehow understood what I was doing to myself or what. I continued being the same way for several more months. Maybe I am just letting my emotions cloud over my logical thoughts and rationality when I say this, but I really do feel like that dog understood me somehow. I know inside that the dog loved me and maybe wanted me to feel better even though I was torturing him almost every night. I wish I would have just died a long time ago so that he would not have suffered like that. I wish there was some way to tell him how sorry I am for what I have done. He died early last year. He did live a pretty long life for his breed. I know that he loved me and I know he knew I loved him. I am really glad that he did not die or get taken away while I was still doing that - he lived for a good amount of time after I stopped that and he had good memories of being loved and treated with respect and dignity by me. I could not stand the thought of him only remembering me as the source of his pain.
I had ordered some Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds to trip on. I was hoping to have a really bad trip that would make me kill myself. I know that sounds pretty fucked up. I took a large dose – I don’t remember how much. I did have a nightmarish trip. Much of it was focused on bad things I had done. As I was coming down, I felt completely at peace. My depression just went away – the delusional thoughts and paranoia went away to.
I did not do anything else to hurt the dog after that. I also stopped being mean to people. I do not understand how that trip changed me.
I stopped being afraid to let certain people see me spending time with the dog any more. I really don’t know why, but during that long fucked up period of my life, I was ashamed of caring about animals. I am glad that I stopped hurting animals and that I was able to actually treat animals and people good again. The dog lived with my family and I for another year and a half. He was treated well and given lots of attention. He was not put back on a chain. My mom started to really have a lot to do with the dog as well. We did give the dog to another guy who lived out in the country because he would not stay in the yard. I did get to see the dog occasionally after that – he had all the space he could want to run around and play. He seemed happy there. He always seemed really excited to see me. After greeting me, he would go to my mom to see her. He always came to me first, but he also loved my mom - as I said, my mom did not mistreat him, at least after that incident when I went berserk with the knife and broken glass.
He was also clearly happy the last 1.5 years he lived at my house. He may have somehow been happy even when I was hurting him so much. He was really gentle and affectionate towards me even when I was doing those things. Every night when I went toward the cellar he would come running up to me - and he surely knew what was going to be done to him there. He still wanted to be with me.
I have not hurt any other animal since that time. I very rarely get mean with people, and when I do, I apologize as fast as possible. I do not want to harm any creature in any way.
I felt incredibly sorrowful about what I did. I felt like a complete monster when I started writing this message. I guess maybe I have changed since that time. Those were still horrible things to do.
I had not thought about those things excessively in recent times until the trip that brought all that back up.
I really wish I could go back and undo all of those things, but it is not possible.
I would just erase all traces of my existence so that it would be like I never existed if that would undo all the harm I have caused. I have done a lot of fucked up things.
I have never told anyone about my past abuse of animals. Nobody knew I did those things. It has always been a source of deep shame and regret for me. Too shameful and utterly evil for anyone to know.
Those actions are a permanent black stain on my soul.
I wish that dog was here with me now. I would like nothing more than to embrace him and see him again. Looking back at the state of mind I was in during that time, I do not know if I would be alive now. I wanted to die more than anything back then. I would have probably been in an even darker state of mind if he had not been around, if it is possible to be more depressed than I was at that time.
I used to have pictures of him. I don't know what happened to them, they've been gone for quite a long time.
Now I have nothing to remember him by.
Now I am crying.
This is a long read but if you just read the first part and skip the rest, you really won’t understand where I am coming from or what I mean. If you don’t have the time, just don’t read it at all. The first part is just some background information that somewhat explains why I did the things I did. I guess the reason I am letting this out now is due to a really powerful trip I had just a few nights ago. I relived a lot of these bad things during that trip. I had other mindstates where I felt as if I were the one getting that treatment. I also experienced being in other horrific places, times, and events that have occurred through history. Just one example was an experience of being a Jew in a Nazi death camp during the Holocaust. These things had much more impact on me perhaps than any other trip in my life(except the first trip I had), partly because I was unaware that it wasn’t really happening – I did not know that I was tripping and it was just the effects of the drugs. This made it seem like it was completely real. I actually thought these things were really happening.
This is not a trip report – there will be one, but right now it is just an admission of the truly evil things I have done. I have seen some posts on Bluelight and received private messages from people who think I am a good person. Someone actually said I was inspirational (I have no idea why – I am generally very depressed, pessimistic, self destructive, and often suicidal. I even do things I know are dangerous just to see what happens – sometimes it is with drugs, but it is much more often other things – standing out in a lightning storm with a tall metal pole in my hands, raised in the air or injecting a mixture of water, feces, and other dirty things in my feet just to see if it will cause septicemia). I have not done those things in quite a while. I am sure those people just do not know the things I have done. I really do not care if the things I say here inspire anyone to hate me or not.
I guess I will just start at the beginning.
I really loved and cared about animals since I can remember. My parents were different. Any time an animal got sick, they would take it off somewhere and dump it – just leaving it to die. Animals were not worth enough to spend money to treat their sickness. They could very easily be replaced. The same thing went for any animal they decided they did not want. It did not affect me much until I was maybe 8 years old because I did not know what they were doing. Once I realized what was happening, it was really painful emotionally for me. I never spoke out against it until I was 15 years old. My brother would freely express his opinions on whatever he felt about this and other things. He did not pretend to agree with everything my mom said – this went for pretty much anything. I could see what he got as a result of expressing disagreement on various different issues and things he thought were morally wrong and he would also express his differing views or beliefs about things in general. He is two years older than me. He was like that when I was four or five years old. I could see how he was punished for doing so. Usually this consisted of a fairly normal spanking and a long rant from my mom about how wrong he was and frequently he would be told he would go to Hell for it. Whenever Hell was brought up, there would be vivid descriptions of the eternal torture he had coming. On some occasions, the punishment was more severe – what I would clearly call child abuse. Not really severe beatings, but definitely crossing the line. She would be emotionally cold toward him for it and not show any love. I was too afraid of ending up like him, so I just pretended to agree with everything she said. I was treated really well and given plenty of love as long as I did this. One of the scariest things I saw was my mom yelling and screaming at him for something. She had this big long butcher knife in her hand. He was holding this doll(one of those Buddy dolls that were popular back then). She was talking about cutting him and making him bleed and cry – I thought she meant my brother. I thought she was going to kill him. She was actually talking about the Buddy doll but I was extremely terrified by this. I was 3 or 4 years old at the time – it is one of my earliest memories.
This is a brief side note that has nothing to do with my horrific acts of cruelty – I will get to that in a minute. My dad scared me much worse – he was always threatening to kill my mom and sometimes my brother and I. Another very early memory of mine was when I was in bed with my mom and getting ready to sleep. I was four years old at this time. My dad was on a rampage. It was truly terrifying. One of the things he told my mom was that she better not go to sleep. He told her if she did, she would wake up on fire. I really thought he was going to set the house on fire and I would burn to death. He made similar threats all through my early childhood. He may have been telling her that because my mom’s dad died from burns in a house fire when she was a little girl. He was getting my mom, his other kids, and his wife out of the house – my mom saw what happened to him and also saw a cat on fire, in agony as it died, making horrifying cries and sounds from the pain (she did not tell me what had happened to her dad until I was older). I really believed he was going to murder me, my mom, and my brother from the time I was 4 until maybe I was 10.
I did express my feelings and opinions some when I was little, and I would be punished. Just relatively minor spankings – it was the vivid descriptions of what would happen to me when I went to Hell that really scared me. She would also give me the same cold treatment she gave my brother if I expressed any disagreement. I did not want her to stop loving me.
I do want to state that my mom was severely abused when she was a child, much worse than anything she did to my brother. She also told me when I was a teenager that her mom did not care about her or her sisters. Her mom did not want any girls, only boys. She was shown no love from her mom when she was a kid and the abuse she described getting would definitely be torture in my opinion. She was probably that way because of her terrible trauma. I should also state that she treated my brother well as long as he went along with what she said. It was like she wanted us to be clones of her and not have any individuality. We were pretty much expected to be exactly like her. We needed to like what she liked and hate what she hated.
I know from what I say, it sounds like my mom is an evil monstrosity – that is not the case. She has completely changed since then. She is nice to everyone and really tolerant toward people who have much different beliefs. She came to accept people as they are. She pretty much does anything she can to help out other people. She openly expresses love to my brother and tries to help him in any way she can. She has become very caring toward animals, she treats them very well, she provides them with anything they need, including health care – even when it is a real financial burden. She is not like she used to be – she is very compassionate and pretty much radiates love and positivity. I have never seen anyone make such a transformation. Frankly, it is difficult for me to believe that anyone could be capable of such transformation. She has also become the most optimistic and hopeful person I know. I truly mean that – I could be a good person and become happy if I had even one tenth of her positivity.
Now I will get back to what I did. Once I realized the animals were just being disposed of – left to die – it was profoundly hurtful to me. My personal pets were safe – she never did it to my animals. That did not matter much because I cared just as much about the others. Often, they did not want to go out and beat the dogs when they were barking. She would make me do it for her. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I did not want to end up like my brother. Having to abuse the animals like that and deal with knowing about the ones left alone to die was just intolerable.
I had to get rid of my feelings and compassion just to survive. I had to make myself hate animals. I went about this by telling myself how much I hated them and then I would beat them and abuse them in various ways while keeping my mind filled with hate. I started the process when I was 10 years old. At the beginning, I only did this to animals I knew were going to be disposed of. It was really hard to do at first, but I eventually just stopped caring completely.
When I was 11, my mom had a couple of pigeons kept in a small cage. They were out in the open with no protection from the elements. I really wanted to do something to help them because I felt really bad about it. I did nothing though. I felt completely powerless. I had to stop caring. I started doing really bad things to them – spraying them full blast with a waterhose when it was cold, poking them with sticks, and shaking the cage really hard. I would feel bad about what I did, but pretty soon I had eliminated the feeling. By that time, I had killed one of them. I was not trying to, but I kept spraying it with water in the winter and it died. My heart was dead to love by then and I did not care.
I still cared about my cat. I never hurt it. It did get sick though. It needed surgery to remove a tumor from its bladder. It would cost $500. I wanted my mom to help it. I tried to get her to, but it did not work. After it died, I took a bottle of Tylenol pills to see if it would make me die. My thought at the time was that if I had some purpose in life, I would live. If not, I would die. I did not know what would happen. I usually don’t consider this to be a real suicide attempt.
I continued having to beat the dogs, but I no longer cared. I noticed that I would start feeling bad about the situation again if I went very long without making them suffer. By now, I was 12 years old. I was doing all kinds of things to hurt myself. Most commonly, I would stick needles in my body and heat them with a cigarette lighter to make it burn in me. I started using those methods on animals to keep myself from caring. I did not care about animals at all anymore. I actually started hating them. I continued abusing them until I was almost 14. At that time, I just felt completely alone. All the people around me were emotionally abusive to me. Animals had never done anything bad to me. I completely lost my ability to express emotions. I lost the ability to feel loved. I kept all my feelings and thoughts to myself.
My mom got a couple of dogs. I did not allow myself to care about them for a while. I really wanted something I could love and something that would love me without hurting me. I secretly started spending time with the dogs and I started to feel less alone. I still had to beat them. My mom made me do it. Every time I had to beat them, I would go as soon as possible to be with them and be nice to them. They still liked me and wanted the affection that I gave them, even though I was beating them frequently. The beatings were pretty brutal. I had to use these whips on them. If I did not beat them enough to make them stop barking, my mom would beat them even worse. Sometimes I would be watched while I did it. If I did not do it good enough, my mom would do it worse and tell me how I should do it next time.
I finally gained the courage to tell her I did not like it. I just exploded with anger on her. I rarely got any kind of corporal punishment - I would not do or say anything that I thought might result in that. My mom told me to get the Bible and pray out loud to God. She told me what I was supposed to say. I don’t remember what it was now, but I do remember saying what she wanted me to say would be a lie – she was wanting me to lie to God. I had started hating God years before that and I really did not think there was a God at that point. I refused to do it and I told her God is dead. Not a good idea. She had this tree branch that she used on my brother. She made me pull my pants and underwear down. She swung that thing as hard as she could (at least it felt like it). She counted with every strike until 50. It left a lot of welts (a lot of them bleeding a little) and bruises. She then poured rubbing alcohol all over them. This was the only time she did anything nearly that bad to me. My capacity to love her or any other person was really diminished. I was suicidal at that point, but I kept it to myself.
The dogs were kept on short chains, and they were big German Shepherds. They were mostly barking because they did not like being tied up, I think. Probably also due to a lack of attention. I was the only one that had anything to do with them and I was afraid to let anyone see that I cared about them. I don’t know why. Due to that, I really did not spend much time with them.
One of the dogs got loose one day and killed a chicken. The dog got the worst beating of its life (not by me, my mom and brother did it). She said she was getting rid of it. I almost chose to kill myself. Nobody knew I was depressed though, I pretended to be happy. I hid it well.
I had to make myself hate that dog. This is some of the worst things I ever did. I would beat the hell out of it every day, multiple times. I would pour boiling water on its legs. I did other bad things – I think I did something worse than that but I can’t remember what it was. I had made myself hate it within a week. A few days later, it was taken away and dumped. I did not care at all. I felt nothing.
There was still the other dog that I still cared about. I continued to spend time with him when nobody was around. I still had to beat him, but he still just wanted me to be with him.
I did not mention this, but there were also times when my mom would not buy food for the dogs. They would frequently go 3 or 4 days without food and sometimes a week. I would give them some food from the house when nobody was around. One time, they were out of food for at least 10 days. I kept trying to get my mom to buy food for them. After about a week, I lost my temper with her and said some mean nasty things. She gave me a big lecture on how we did not have enough money for that and was just cold toward me for a couple of days. This was shortly after she got the two German shepherds.
I continued spending time with the white German shepherd. I fortunately did not have to beat it any more. It wasn’t long till it got sick after that. I told my mom I thought it was sick. She was becoming at least a little caring toward it. She would not take it to a vet, but she did at least try to help it. This was the first time I remember her not having a dog dumped off when it was sick. I would go out with it every night for a long time during its sickness. About a week into it, I was looking out the window. I could see it having difficulty walking. I knew it was probably dying. For a couple of hours, I just kept looking out at it but I was afraid to go out there. I did after a while. I tried to make him feel better, but there really was nothing I could do. I just stayed out there with it while it died. The last half hour or so was really bad. I am not sure what was wrong with the dog, but it was suffering a lot and making really bad sounds. I was just watching it die. Right before it died, it went into convulsions (I had I cat that died in a similar way when I was six years old. It was in front of a glass screen door. I could see this big thunderstorm cloud through the window. The cat started just rolling around, making really bad sounds. Its whole body started convulsing and it was dead after a few minutes.) I think it lost consciousness at that point. It really looked horrible. I decided I wanted to die to.
I just went back in after it died. I did not say anything about it. My mom got kind of upset when she found out. I guess she did care some about that dog. She had actually had a little to do with it during the month or so before it died.
At this time, my dad was really acting violent. He was on the rampage for a couple of weeks. My brother did something to make him mad one day. He started punching him in the head and banging his head against the wall. My mom and I tried to make him stop, and he did quit after a minute. He kept telling people if they did not leave they would be taken out in body bags.
About two weeks after the dog died, I found a patch of Amanita Virosa (Destroying angel – same toxins as the Death Cap) mushrooms. I ate maybe five or six of them. I just went about my normal business like nothing was wrong, just waiting for them to kill me. I was really sick after a few hours. I was extremely sick for a long time after that. I was vomiting profusely. I had hallucinations the first night and was just out of my head. For over a week, I did not pee at all. I would shit out profuse amounts of clear liquid. It was the worst suffering I had experienced at that point in my life. I knew it could take a couple of weeks to die, so I just waited patiently for death. Nobody knew why I was sick and I did not say a word. I was getting better after about 3 weeks. I was unable to eat at all the first 3 weeks. The last time I vomited was more than a month after the poisoning. I tried to kill myself again about two months after that poisoning.
I no longer cared about anything. I don’t know why, but I tortured a baby chicken to death. I did not enjoy it, but I did not feel anything at all.
I had no more to do with any animal until I was 16.
Sometime after I turned 15, I started developing psychotic depression. I also became very mean to everyone. I hated everyone. I would yell and scream in rage for hours every day. I would tell my parents I wanted them to die. I would describe how I wanted them to die. Just an example of the kind of things I would say to my mom: “I would like to tie you down and rape you. I want to slit your throat and feel the warm blood flowing on my hands. I’ll look into your dying eyes and laugh. I’ll mutilate your corpse and throw it in a ditch.” I would constantly talk about wanting everyone to die. I was always talking about suicide. I kept telling her she should have had an abortion. I would tell her that she should have dumped me in a garbage can when I was born because that is where I belonged. I was constantly describing in vivid detail how I wanted her to die. She would start crying and I would just laugh at her and scream for her to weep. I actually felt good when I said those things. I would then go to my room and feel really bad about it. In reality, I was just hoping like Hell that somebody would help me. I was extremely depressed and full of sorrow for the way I had been treating people. I really did not want to be so mean, but I just could not control it.
I was paranoid and delusional. I am not going to describe that in detail – I thought cameras and microphones were everywhere. I thought people knew what I was thinking. I believed I was dying from brain cancer. I thought there was someone in the attic watching images from hidden cameras. I would hear voices saying really bad things about me. Sometimes the voice would tell me to kill myself.
Around this time, my mom got another dog. I would abuse it just to keep myself from caring about it. That was the only way I knew how to avoid having feelings for it. I eventually stopped that and started to care about the dog. This time, nobody was doing anything bad to the dog and I stopped being afraid to let myself care about it. It was not put on a chain, at least for a while. I continued to be hateful and mean to people, but not the dog. Eventually, my mom put it on a short chain – maybe 10 feet long. This dog was also a German shepherd. It made me feel more depressed because the dog was not happy. My mom would occasionally let it loose for a short time, but for the most part, I was the only one that had much to do with it. A few months later, it went missing. It was not because my mom got rid of it – someone took the dog and chained it to the back of a truck. They drove down the road, dragging it. It was pretty much torn apart. Its dead body was found later. Nobody could find out who did that.
That left me unable to feel any positive emotions. The only things I could feel was profound depression, hatred, rage, and extreme paranoia.
My mom got another German shepherd shortly after that. I made sure not to care about it. I did not hurt the dog though.
I was still in a state of psychotic depression. Over the last year, I had severe insomnia as well. I would often go a week or more without sleeping at all. I would talk about wanting horrible things to happen – for many people to die. One of the things I kept saying I wanted was for airplanes to crash into skyscrapers. I would list specific buildings. A number of times, it was the world trade center buildings. This was before 9/11.
I did not think about the dog at all until my mom put it on a really short chain. It would bark all day and all night. At first, I was just pissed off because of the noise. It was almost constant. I truly hated that dog. I started just beating the hell out of it. I eventually started feeling sorry for the dog though. I did not hurt it for the barking after that. One day, I just exploded in rage at my mom. I told her if she did not make that dog shut up, I would kill her. I grabbed a knife and started waving it in her face and screaming at the top of my lungs. I had been ingesting poisonous substances in secret every day for a long time at that point and injecting dirty things into my body in an attempt to cause septicemia or cancer. I had a bunch of needles embedded deep in my body(I actually kept doing that to myself until last year. I had to have xrays a short time back and there were 24 found. There are a lot more in other parts of my body that were not xrayed). (I was not using drugs, my mom would keep calves and she had needles to give them shots – I started injecting dirty things into my body with those). There was a tube of roach killing gel. I picked it up, laughed in her face, then swallowed the whole tube while she watched. After that, I took the knife and cut the dogs collar off. I came back in, broke a glass, and started stabbing shards of glass into my arms and neck. She was going toward the phone. I ripped that out of the wall and smashed it. I told her that if she tried to call anyone I would kill myself. I told her if she sent me to a mental institution, I would kill her as soon as I got out. She started sobbing and sat on the couch. I started laughing at her.
After a few minutes, I calmed down some and then I told her how I felt. She had no idea that I felt bad for the dog. I told her that I would not tolerate it any more.
She started leaving the dog loose at night. I thought my mom was going to commit suicide, and I kept telling her I was going to kill myself if she died.
I started to spend time with the dog. I was constantly doing all kinds of things to hurt myself because every time I did something painful to my body it would make me feel better. My brother had been gone a long time, and came back around then. I had nothing at all to do with him. I had lost all my feelings for him. He ran up a bill of over $800 using phone sex and pay per view porn. He had no job. I had to pay for all his porn. I exploded in anger and treated him really bad. That drove him away. He quickly ended up in prison. That would not have happened if I had not been so mean. It is my fault he went back to prison.
Now, back to the dog. The dog was the only thing that I felt actually cared about me. I logically knew that my mom loved me but I could not feel it at all. I did still love her, even though I treated her like trash. I was blaming my depression on the things my parents put me through, and I often wanted to make them suffer for how they made me suffer. I continued to be mean to them.
I was still having delusional thoughts. I believed the dog was really depressed. I thought it wanted to die. I was thinking about a way to kill the dog so it would not suffer. At the same time, I was doing more self harm. The pain made me feel better. I got the idea in my mind that I could make the dog feel better the same way. I started sticking needles in him (not embedding them deep so they won't come out - I only did that to myself) and pinching him really hard. The dog did react to the pain, sometimes whimpering or crying out, sometimes I would hurt him bad enough that it sounded like a tormented yelp. When I got him that bad, he would back away but he would come right back. I knew I went too far when he reacted like that and it was making him hurt too much, that would always make me feel really bad and I never wanted to make it that painful. I knew from my own self inflicted pain that there is a level at which the suffering from the physical pain outweighs the mood improving effects. In my warped mind, I truly thought I was helping him. What I was doing to him was very painful, but he would tolerate what I did and never stopped loving me. He never even appeared to be afraid of me. I felt like this was making him less depressed. The fact that he would just stay there without trying to get away and never tried to bite me for it served as a confirmation in my mind that it was making him feel better. I know now that my feeling that he was severely depressed was a psychotic delusion of mine. I was torturing him. I caused him immense suffering. I am truly regretful of what I did. I really loved that dog. He really loved me too, and I did not deserve his love.
I would always be really affectionate toward the dog after I did those things. Sometimes I would just embrace him for a long time. I would often just put my face in his fur and weep. I had lost the ability to cry for a long time. I don't think I would have been able to cry without him. I wanted to cry a lot because I would feel better afterwards. I may not have cried even once in 2 or 3 years at that point - it was like I was too depressed to even cry - that probably sounds bizarre, but that is how it was. I have gotten in that state a few times after that as well. I only lose the ability to cry when I am in the darkest, deepest states of depression. I inflicted a lot of pain on the dog every night. This is difficult for me to think about, but sometimes I would spend as long as maybe 30 minutes jabbing the dog with needles and pinching his legs really hard. There were times when it hurt him enough that he would be limping, sometimes for several days. I do not know why the dog did not bite me for it, run away, or just avoid me completely. I really thought I was making the dog feel better – doing it to myself made my mood better.
The dog still liked me and just wanted to be with me. Maybe the dog could tell that I felt bad. Maybe he just wanted the attention so bad that he tolerated the bad treatment. I would do this in the cellar. The dog would come down there with me. I was doing significantly worse things to my own body and the dog would often watch me while I did it. I don’t know if he somehow understood what I was doing to myself or what. I continued being the same way for several more months. Maybe I am just letting my emotions cloud over my logical thoughts and rationality when I say this, but I really do feel like that dog understood me somehow. I know inside that the dog loved me and maybe wanted me to feel better even though I was torturing him almost every night. I wish I would have just died a long time ago so that he would not have suffered like that. I wish there was some way to tell him how sorry I am for what I have done. He died early last year. He did live a pretty long life for his breed. I know that he loved me and I know he knew I loved him. I am really glad that he did not die or get taken away while I was still doing that - he lived for a good amount of time after I stopped that and he had good memories of being loved and treated with respect and dignity by me. I could not stand the thought of him only remembering me as the source of his pain.
I had ordered some Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds to trip on. I was hoping to have a really bad trip that would make me kill myself. I know that sounds pretty fucked up. I took a large dose – I don’t remember how much. I did have a nightmarish trip. Much of it was focused on bad things I had done. As I was coming down, I felt completely at peace. My depression just went away – the delusional thoughts and paranoia went away to.
I did not do anything else to hurt the dog after that. I also stopped being mean to people. I do not understand how that trip changed me.
I stopped being afraid to let certain people see me spending time with the dog any more. I really don’t know why, but during that long fucked up period of my life, I was ashamed of caring about animals. I am glad that I stopped hurting animals and that I was able to actually treat animals and people good again. The dog lived with my family and I for another year and a half. He was treated well and given lots of attention. He was not put back on a chain. My mom started to really have a lot to do with the dog as well. We did give the dog to another guy who lived out in the country because he would not stay in the yard. I did get to see the dog occasionally after that – he had all the space he could want to run around and play. He seemed happy there. He always seemed really excited to see me. After greeting me, he would go to my mom to see her. He always came to me first, but he also loved my mom - as I said, my mom did not mistreat him, at least after that incident when I went berserk with the knife and broken glass.
He was also clearly happy the last 1.5 years he lived at my house. He may have somehow been happy even when I was hurting him so much. He was really gentle and affectionate towards me even when I was doing those things. Every night when I went toward the cellar he would come running up to me - and he surely knew what was going to be done to him there. He still wanted to be with me.
I have not hurt any other animal since that time. I very rarely get mean with people, and when I do, I apologize as fast as possible. I do not want to harm any creature in any way.
I felt incredibly sorrowful about what I did. I felt like a complete monster when I started writing this message. I guess maybe I have changed since that time. Those were still horrible things to do.
I had not thought about those things excessively in recent times until the trip that brought all that back up.
I really wish I could go back and undo all of those things, but it is not possible.
I would just erase all traces of my existence so that it would be like I never existed if that would undo all the harm I have caused. I have done a lot of fucked up things.
I have never told anyone about my past abuse of animals. Nobody knew I did those things. It has always been a source of deep shame and regret for me. Too shameful and utterly evil for anyone to know.
Those actions are a permanent black stain on my soul.
I wish that dog was here with me now. I would like nothing more than to embrace him and see him again. Looking back at the state of mind I was in during that time, I do not know if I would be alive now. I wanted to die more than anything back then. I would have probably been in an even darker state of mind if he had not been around, if it is possible to be more depressed than I was at that time.
I used to have pictures of him. I don't know what happened to them, they've been gone for quite a long time.
Now I have nothing to remember him by.
Now I am crying.
