My mother is impelling me to insanity. Literally. Not only has her smothering, controlling ways caused me actual mental health issues from the severe stress of it all, I am now beginning to query my tangible sanity levels and whether or not I may be a real danger to society in the long run.
It is just like any other day in this house of terrors. Her dissatisfaction and despondency play their usual, pivotal role in her overall conduct, slithering away impatiently awaiting that moment to strike its prey down. That prey being me. Its venom pure and gruesome insolence, those snide and detrimental comments uttered so condescendingly behind my back, knowing full well that I am just within ear shot to catch it. Bellowing out childish insults based solely on my appearance which in turn makes me question my worth, allowing my self-confidence to freely withdraw from me all over again. She always takes things too far, aware or not of the immense power those mighty words carry. She adores toying with me; I am her disfigured plaything. And like a cat mischievously dissecting the wings off a common housefly, she the sadistic creature pulls at my metaphorical limbs, revelling in my torment.
Though todays devilment for her own internal anguish brings about affliction to the whole household, herself included.
And she does so by demanding my father switch off the central heating. She wants those soft waves of heat deliciously floating up from beneath floorboards on a permanent hiatus, regardless of the current blistering and arctic conditions. And all because I am unemployed. I am some heinous freeloader according to her and since I don’t work “like everybody else,” and make insufficient money I shan’t enjoy the luxurious of life any longer. Which also equates to no more heating for anyone else living here either. As if her threats and petty demands are going to magically land me a job or force the Universe to provide in a way she deems fit. It’s her illogical way of attempting to force me to try harder, but more like kicking me further down as I lay crippled on the ground before her.
So I sit here now, hiding away and closed off from the scorching depths of this hell in my brothers old study room. Amassed in hardly any ample clothing to give me the fieriness I desperately crave right now. The only piece worthy of a mention are some simple and worn fingerless gloves that add little warmth as my fingertips frantically type away while the chill pinches at the flesh that is exposed.
And all this foolishness because her ego and pride are too great.
In the extremes of todays events my thoughts departed to a timorous dark place. And as she told my dad “what a waste of space,” I was I fervently clutched onto an old tinted Coke glass. And having only just finished emptying its watery contents down my throat moments prior I pictured for only a second, catapulting that glass directly to the wall beside her head, hoping a shard or two might draw unnecessary blood. It was a split second of triumph, a precious moment of pounding my chest and showing my own dominance and strength over her perceived weakened state of me. But more so it was a pitiful flash of mortifying realisation that I may be capable of such alarming things.
Is this how murderers or serial killers are fashioned? Is it through calamitous circumstances and heavy mental thoughts such as these that fissures that tear on the cord of morality. Continually aggravating that valuable soft spot until one day it simply fractures without warning and without a means of repair. I mean if an unnoticed overload of stress can cause my mind to suddenly bite back with panic and anxiety spells, could I suddenly find myself in a situation were such thoughts are no longer just conceptually entertained, but become my sordid reality?
And this is not the first time such thoughts have blissfully invaded my mind, nor have those been any less tamer, but it is the first time I’ve really had to step back and say this kind of thinking is not acceptable. It is the first time I’ve conceived that I may be capable of doing such things. Things that I may never be able to come back from. There is a darkness that lurks within me and I am afraid it may be let loose with this continuous prodding. A darkness I suspected was always there, yet never thought much of it’s character and strength and simply ignored it. But now I’ve visually tasted and felt it’s paralysing force and power and it disturbs me greatly. Am I destined to become another lost soul who brings harm to another? Am I really strong enough to reign it in should it’s charge be called upon or worse yet independently resurfaces?
And more importantly where do I go from here?