Journal Notes 2

Pardon the often repetitious nature of these entries. I rarely go back over them to consolidate similar or updated thoughts.


I steal whenever I can. The first thing I ever remember stealing was a handful of dog biscuits from the pet store in the mall. My mother caught me later that day and brought me back to return them. She was trying to guilt me and it didn’t work. I used to steal cigarettes and dipping tobacco from Walmart as a child. I’ve stolen jewelry from friends and friends’ parents, money from family, and everything from chapstick, gum, candy, ipods and more.

My mother slapped, hit, and berated me as punishment. I remember once showing my mother my report card and she didn’t like a grade or something. She continuously slapped me across the face, pointed at the report card, slapped me again, so on and so forth.

I remember being spanked at least three times in elementary school with a large paddle.

Once I was caught stealing from an old lady who drove me to school for a few months. My stepmother grabbed my shirt and threw me against the wall.

My stepmother challenged me to hit her on a few occasions. I believe this was an attempt at getting me in trouble with the authorities in order to get me away from my father. The only thing that kept me from pummeling her into a bloody mess was that I was smarter than her, smart enough to know what she was attempting to do. I used it to my advantage, in a sense, in that it further enraged her that I would not submit to her will.

In a way, I have my stepmother to thank for me not getting much trouble as a teenager. Because she kept such tight control on me, I was unable to even breathe without her knowing about it.

I remember the day I decided that I should kill her. I had smarted off to her for some reason. It didn’t take much effort at all to set her off. She acted like she was some high and mighty queen that deserved the utmost respect at all times. I was doing the dishes and she came out of her room with a belt and began whipping my legs with it. I ignored the pain and just stared out the window and continued doing the dishes as she whipped my legs. It hurt, but I wasn’t going to show her that.

My mother would lock my brother and I in our rooms for extended amounts of time, often without a meal. She turned the doorknob so that it locked from the outside. Sometimes she would lock him in our room by himself. I remember hearing him scream until he couldn’t scream anymore. Sometimes I would sneak him food when my mother wasn’t looking. I remember that he hated going to my mother’s house. When she would come to pick us up, he would scream, kick her and pull her hair…trying desperately to get away from her. My brother would come back to my dad’s place hungry. Thankfully he was much too young to remember any of the things we went through.

My mother has taken Risperidone for years now, as well as Paxil.

I was insanely jealous of any man who even looked at my mother, but especially those whom she brought home to have sex with, and those whom she established a relationship with and/or married. I made plans to kill them, especially a man named David. I found out later in life that he beat her, once chasing her outside into the street and knocking her to the ground. I found out just a couple of years ago that he died of a heart attack. Serves him right. I hope it was slow.

I started college three times. I barely finished my first time and got an associates degree. I wanted to quit many times over but my wife nagged me until I finished. I started twice more and quit both times putting me in deeper debt both times.

When my stepmother came into the picture, I remember liking her at first. Once they were married, she changed. She was extremely strict and controlling. She spied on everything I did and dictated my every move. We fought constantly when I got to the age where I felt comfortable enough to stand up to her. However, any time she and I fought, my father took her side every time. I would threaten to run away, with moving back with my mother and he would tell me “go ahead.” I also remember telling him one time that it was “her or me”, and he said, well, I guess you’ll just have to move back to your mother’s. This is why I felt abandoned and neglected. She always disparaged my mother. She would talk badly about her while simultaneously expounding upon her own virtues as a mother and wife. She did it so much that it was almost impossible not to believe her as a child.

I manipulate my wife a lot. I push her to her limits, of which I’m well aware. I know exactly what I can get away with, exactly how far I can push her and if I do upset her…I know exactly how to win her back over.

I have never physically assaulted my wife, although I have thought about it numerous times during fights. I believe that I emotionally assault her, though. I have picked her up and moved her out of my way once during a fight. She has told me that I have physically hit her in some way but I don’t remember it.

When I get mad enough, I blank out and don’t remember much of what I do or say. It’s as if an animal instinct takes over and I cannot control it. Fits of rage are not uncommon, especially if I am feeling on edge, irritable, or bored. I can blow up at the simplest things.

Last year I destroyed a Galaxy Note 4 and a tablet. Destroyed the Galaxy because my wife wouldn’t stop nagging me about being on my phone. It isn’t as if I’m playing games or checking FB all the time. I’m reading, checking news, etc. Destroyed the tablet because my daughter was told not to stay up late reading on it. I caught her doing it anyway, disobeying me, so I bashed it against the wall until it was in pieces.

My wife knows me better than anyone, which shouldn’t be surprising. She knows most of my secrets. She knows everything she should know. I’ve confessed any *crimes* against our marriage that I’ve committed. She often tells me that sometimes she believes I do not love her and have no feelings for her. Other times she says she believes I don’t love her like she loves me, or I don’t love her as much as she loves me. A common theme that I came up with when we are saying I love yous when saying goodbye on the phone is that when I say I love you, she’ll say I love you more, or I’ll start it. Anyway, there is a movie with called Christian Bale called The Prestige. In it, Christian Bale plays a magician and marries a woman who, at times, will say that she believes sometimes he doesn’t love her. Of course, he plays it off and wins her back over. Come to find out, though, in the end of the movie, Christian Bale’s character had an identical twin brother who helped him win fame and fortune as a master magician. At times, they had to switch places. The twin would have to go home to the other’s home and would spend time with his wife and child and play the part. That’s how I feel. I feel as if I’m playing the part.

My wife constantly berates me about my poor attitude while at home, but how I can be a graceful and charming social butterfly when around friends, co-workers, etc…

She tells me that she feels like she has to walk on eggshells around me most of the time.

I pretend to accept responsibility when arguing with my wife just to end the argument. Arguing is tedious.

When I was about 11 years old I was jumping on the trampoline. I was learning to do backflips. I jumped too high once, did a backflip and went too far. I landed hard and square on the back of my head. The pain was agonizing and I had a headache for days. 

A few times a year I get severe migraines which are preceded by auras.

Up until age 8 or 9 I would wet the bed.

I’ve never been able to make true friends. I see friends as a hindrance, mostly. I had a person live with me and my family for a while but he was mostly a nuisance. I knew him through high school. He was probably the closest thing to a friend I ever had but looking back, he was more of a close acquaintance that I bummed cigarettes off of and who helped pay the rent.

I once held my youngest brother by his neck against the wall and repeatedly called him “faggot”  for irritating me. My stepmother caught me and started to beat me but my father walked in just in time. I never heard the end of that.

At age 8 I would sneak my mother’s cigarettes into my room and smoke.

I was never interested in playing sports. I was, however, an ROTC fanatic. I liked the feeling of being in control. When I was a fresh cadet I revelled in the thought of making my way to the top. I wanted command of the entire unit and I got it. In my junior year I was promoted to LT Junior Grade, the first junior to ever hold that rank at my school. My senior year I was promoted to Cadet Commander. I had made it. I was in control.

I cannot feel any emotion anymore. Almost everything is faked. I feel like I am wearing a mask through life. It’s like life is a play and I’m an actor. I especially feel no empathy the vast majority of the time. I have found, though, that I can make myself emotional if I want to. I can make myself cry, but I know I’m acting. It has been increasingly difficult to even relate to anyone’s pain or suffering, but I don’t know that I have ever actually “felt” someone else’s pain. It just doesn’t phase me. My emotions seem to be learned behaviors, learned reactions I often get irritated by other people’s  exaggerated “suffering”, and even at that I fail miserably. For example, I don’t know what to do when I see my wife crying in pain. I get irritated, honestly.

Journal Notes 2

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