Rip and cut and mutilate

Warning: This post is incoherent, disturbing and contains references to self-harm, violent urges and murder.

I sometimes wonder if I´m dangerous. Working with knives and preparing meat really cheers me up. This in itself probably isn´t dangerous, but sometimes when I feel this weird inner tension, frustration, however you call it I actually feel an urge to take a knife to something. It´s not that I want to kill or torture anyone, it´s just that I look for this meditative, fascinating, calming experience. I´m fully focused, I have no problem severing fibres and removing little blood vessels even though I´m normally rather clumsy.

This isn´t anything I can really talk about. I feel stupid even writing it down. I neither want to dramatize it, nor do I want to play it down. In fact, I don´t know what to think about it and that´s the problem. Of course it´s sort of ridiculous to feel like a potential serial killer because I enjoy preparing meat. On the other hand, though, this urge simply bugs me. And I´ve read enough about serial killers to know that a combination of sadism and depression/frustration/anger issues is kind of explosive. I have both. Sometimes I think it´s just a matter of gender that I turned out the way I did. With scars on my arms, instead of a police record.

What if I talk to someone about this? Some will think I´m trying to look badass. Others will want all kinds of guarantees and promises and commitments to lawfulness from me. I want neither kind of reaction. I neither want to be treated like an immature show-off, nor like a ticking time bomb who needs to be monitored closely. I don´t want to be treated like a villain or an idiot. I didn´t harm anyone. I don´t intend to.

If someone told me I´m okay and not dangerous and that I just worry too much I´d be angry of sorts. I´d probably insist it´s not that simple/harmless, but if they took me seriously some kind of self-protective instinct would kick in and I´d assure them I´m actually not dangerous at all. I think what would be behind my insisting and provoking is this very same tension. I don´t want to be left alone with it. It´s not fair to leave everything to my ethics and self-control. It´s not fair to overlook the intensity of this urge just because I´m a girl. What am I supposed to do? Sit around and chew on my wrists?

I get this tension sometimes. It usually passes on its own, even though I can´t believe it while it lasts. This tension has nothing to do with my BDSM leanings. They aren´t born out of frustration. I top best when I come from a place of mental equilibrium. When I´m asked to and feel okay with it. If I want a reaction from my partner too much I will not be able to produce it. I need to have a certain distance towards the scene in order to control and manage it. If I go in there needy I don´t get nearly as much out of it. And then the tension rises, turns to aggressive impulses which I need to control, much to my frustration. In such situations I simply want to punch myself because why the fuck do I have to be this way? Why can´t everything just be easy? Why do I have to be so I don´t even know what? Primitive? Greedy? Brutal?

I have no idea how I come across writing this. I  mean – do you think I´m some kind of animal who should be locked up? Do you think all my more humane sides are just some kind of fake? That I´m incapable of love, that I´m some cold, dead monster? It is what I think of myself when I´m in these moods, how I perceive myself, but it simply has to be a misconception!  Otherwise – otherwise I mustn´t even think anymore because I cannot think without making “excuses”. As a human monster I´m not allowed a perspective of my own. Do we grant serial killers a perspective of their own? Or do we dismiss everything they say as excuses, as some kind of con? I think there is a certain style of condemnation that does not just condemn the deed, or even the person, but also all of this person´s feelings. We can call a person a bad person, but even bad persons might have some ordinary feelings. If we dismiss those feelings as fake and illusions and bullshit – what happens to said bad person? She cannot feel anymore without berating herself. Cannot think anymore. Her moods only add to her guilt, as they distract her from the reality of what she is. A monster who cannot feel. Moods and feelings are a scam, mere resistance against acknowledging reality.

I´ve always carried this sense of guilt with me, for as long as I can remember. This idea that I´m some kind of very bad person. And maybe that´s no surprise if I carry all those aggressive impulses in me. This tension, my strong reaction to things. Maybe I have a damn good reason to feel guilty. Why was I always so easy to set up, so immature, so easy to provoke? In my better moments I say that people have no right to provoke me, I can pin down when and where they crossed boundaries, but I never know if I´m being reasonable or not. What if I´m just hypersensitive? What if I´m the exact kind of person I always despised and feared – the little gangster who feels provoked at the drop of a hat and immediately draws his knife or beats you up? Do I have a right to despise those people? Do I deserve everything I get? Do others have the right to despise me? Hate me? Judge me? Make decisions about me?

The idea that they even do so is just a vision of mine, isn´t it? Another craziness, why do I have to be so crazy, why is there nothing sane about me? Only as long as I steer clear of feelings, it seems. All my feelings are somehow exaggerated, neurotic, pathological, worthless. I´m delusional of sorts because I hear judgment in everything. Sometimes when I read discussions online that upset me I need to remind myself that the people arguing don´t even know me, so their judgment and aggression cannot be directed against me. I guess I´m just that delusional, I believe everything relates to me somehow. The only thing that separates me from psychotics is that I only feel like it is, I don´t think it really is. The “feel like” is the fine line between severe neuroticism and official insanity.

I should probably have listened to Dr. Stoneface. All those theories by Kernberg are probably true. I simply am inherently destructive. I never believed in genuine goodness, did I? Maybe I was just born with an embarrassing surplus of aggression, greed and selfishness. Tough luck, and now everybody else has to put up with this. I cannot burden others with my style of being. My emotions are unreasonable, unacceptable, they need to be neglected and I need to learn living while my emotions are neglected by others and while I need to neglect them myself. I cannot get myself what I want. I cannot even feel without committing a crime. I need to accept that I commit fallacies when I feel. That I will be unfairly angry. That my feelings are crazy, invalid, that they correspond to nothing out there in the real world.

This last thing would somehow be bearable if only there wasn´t this stern, merciless voice in my head telling me that this is my fault. That my emotions are the way they are because I´m too lazy to be sane. Or too selfish, I don´t know. That I´m responsible for them. Responsibility is a word that cuts me down to the core and all I hear in my head is the echo of someone shaking theirs, shaking their head at how flawed and weak-willed I must be if this word or anything reminding me of my responsibility alone evokes such a reaction. It is something I ought to accept, it is mere reality, do I have a problem with reality?

Ugh. Way to get the tension out. Stop fighting, just take it out on yourself. Say everything the mean thoughts in your head tell you. I feel like what I said in the last two paragraphs is a farce, I felt it even while I said it. It was satisfying on some level. Just what is wrong with me? Am I so cruel that my cruelty has to go into something, and be it destroying myself? Do I need to interpret everything the wrong way just because I need war, enemies, drama? Does it satisfy me to feel like the victim because I cannot be the perpetrator?

That tension has to come from somewhere. It probably comes from a whole lot of everyday life stress, and who knows what else. Maybe a predisposition. Maybe a whole lot of experiences that would have made anyone like this. Why anyone, anyway? On the one hand we accept that everybody reacts to stuff differently, on the other hand we only take events seriously if “anyone” would have reacted strongly to it? How does this even make sense? Is that the line between sanity and madness: If anyone would react as strongly, you´re sane, it was just a real bad thing to happen. If you´re on the wrong end of statistics, though, then your suffering is neurotic?

Whatever. I got carried away. I wanted to talk about these urges for once, since I normally don´t. Just – explore this issue mentally. Then my hang-ups got in the way of that. Berating myself has kind of reduced the tension, and the urge is not nearly as intense anymore. I´m sort of okay. There is still some allure to the thought of – well, sort of dissecting something, but it´s okay. I kind of secretly enjoy that I´m like this. Other people get grossed out. I sense a potential source of confidence. Just having a knife in my hands makes me feel better. Which is why for a long time I refused to use razor blades for cutting. I guess if I hadn´t been a vegetarian at the time I started I might never have started. Then again, my temporary vegetarianism might have been an act if not of hypocrisy, then of definitely not wanting to be who I am. I tried to convince myself that displays of meat made me feel sick, but in fact I´d always been fascinated by animal intestines at the butcher´s, especially as a kid.

At any rate, when I started cutting I was utterly angry. I had the impulse to stab something, stab my hand, but at the same time I couldn´t bring myself to do it. I hated myself for it but in fact I simply had some sense left. I might have seriously harmed myself, rendered myself unable to use my hand. I knew that, and also I was scared of the pain, so I sat there with the knife raised and didn´t know what to do. Instead I tried to cut and I couldn´t even do that properly. I ended up with scratches more than anything else. I was accused of merely wanting attention, but my rage was very real. I just couldn´t act on it. There were other occasions when I wanted to throw something but simply froze because something inside of me seemed to ridicule me, the entire situation, I don´t know. I was both extremely emotional and completely distant.

I think the only way to get my feelings out, safely or otherwise,  is by learning practical skills which help me express them. I can release my frustration in a controlled manner by dissecting my meat before cooking it. I could release all kinds of feelings once I learned how to sing. I´m eager to learn all singing styles so I can express everything. I find it more of a relief to express feelings through borrowed notes and lyrics. Feeling in analogies once more. Or, in BDSM, I express feelings through others. I make them feel what I would like to feel but can´t, and by empathizing with them I get to feel it, too. A little. A lot. I can´t be sure, but it´s enough for me to be happy and exhausted afterwards.

When I could still write I used writing for similar purposes. I spat it all out there, tried to make it perfect, enjoyed the thought of how people reading it would feel. Enjoyed how it made me feel. In a way, I´ve spent my life perfecting ways to distance myself from my feelings and then enjoy the controlled, beatified version. Artsy, isn´t it. Maybe it´s a struggle for survival. A struggle for neither feeling everything too much or nothing at all, I don´t know. I don´t know how other people express feelings. Or even how they experience feelings. Maybe that´s why I ask so many questions. Or suggest things. “When I do xyz, you feel [….], don´t you?” And when they say yes I feel confirmed, validated, like I have a connection to humanity. Like I can´t be that far off. If I can guess so well what they feel.

But do I make everyone feel the way I feel, or want to feel? Do I always express feelings through others? Do I force them on others? I don´t know. I mean – I don´t think so. Most definitely not on purpose. What I do in BDSM is very controlled. I know what I´m doing, I´m using certain styles of communication, though it all comes to me instinctively. I´m in sync with my partner, I know what to say and what effect it will have.

Dr. Stoneface seemed to think I was making him feel the way I felt. But if that was true I definitely didn´t do it on purpose. In BDSM I´m the therapist, not the patient. And I never felt sure what effect my behavior would have on Dr. Stoneface. Until this day I can´t tell for sure what he felt. I can only guess. This is vastly different from situations in which I feel in control. I don´t know if he thought I felt in control in therapy. I felt extremely insecure, so I withdrew into myself and defended that fortress.

Am I toxic? Do I poison everyone who gets into contact with me? I don´t know. I feel like I do not just make others feel things, first and foremost others make me feel things. I feel like I´m overrun with peoples´ feelings. Sometimes I don´t even know if what I feel are my feelings or if what I spit out here are the feelings of others I sympathized with. I feel like I can imagine feelings so well that it doesn´t make difference if I really feel them or not. Is that empathy or fantasy?

Can I even justify posting here? If I´m so toxic, am I doing anything other than make excuses? Am I anything but a walking offense to the victims of people like me? I´m not asking this in despair, those questions are nothing new, they´re always somewhere in my head and it feels good to get them out there for once. I´m allowing myself a perspective of my own, I´m struggling for room and I´m finally finding some. I´m putting this out here because that way the worst can´t happen to me anymore. I cannot be annihilated anymore. Hopefully.

I´m writing just to reduce the tension, because otherwise I´d be punching myself over one feeling or the other. Regret,over some silly mistake I made. Or self-loathing. There´s always something. I´m still not any saner than when I started. It feels good to get all the guilt and self-loathing out there, all those obsessive paranoid thoughts. If only I knew if they´re really paranoid. Maybe I´m not misinterpreting peoples´ behavior towards me? I´ll need to write a structured post on that soon. And I need to stop now because no one is going to read all this gibberish anyway.

 

 

 

 

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