#schizos are made of steel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eastendeagle-blog · 6 years ago

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MARCH

I knew I had to run at that point. I have been in a lot of thrilling situations in my life, but it was never like this. The adrenalin rushing through my body, the level of tensity so incredibly high. Covered in sweat, blood, and pure evil in my mind. It was like I ended up in the most exciting scene of a horror film. I ran far away from the fire in the woods, and as I ran, underneath the green of the northern lights sky, I realized: this is the night I’ve been dreaming of all my life. It was something, I knew, I will not regret. I knew that ever since I can remember. This plan, it all worked out in the end. I felt so much relief and satisfaction, even a little bit of peace.

I had my side buddy, Jussu, coming to pick me up in his blue Audi, his headlights were dimmed. It was parked aside of the many empty roads, as it is at 4 in the morning in Finland. I got in the car and Jussu went full crazy on the gas. He was talking to me but I couldn’t hear a word. I finally did what I wanted to do. I think I ended up in trance. I couldn’t be there in reality. I remember thinking, I didn’t want to wash his blood of off my hands. Oh, this moment is so sacred. His blood is sacred, and I looked at my hands, it’s his blood on my hands made from his blood. I wanted his blood on my hands, my face, for so many years. I dreamt about it when I was a kid. As Jussu was talking to me, or trying to talk to me on our way to his hidden shack in the woods 15 miles from Kuusamo, my thoughts were so damn loud that his voice sounded like life on the bottom of the sea. My thoughts were controling everything. I was just thinking, that I just ended a never-ending chapter, but the kind of one that fucking ended. So many dreams I’ve had all my fucking life about doing what I just did to him, how my dream became reality. Finally. How much fun I had while I was doing it, how much I enjoyed making him suffer. It was his deepest karma, and he knew this day was coming because he raised the ‘Devil’s son’, like he always called me. Fuck, I’m just as sick as him, I realized now. But at least I have manners, my mother taught me that. Or what’s left of it. But I destroyed the man who destroyed me, my life, my will to live; the reason why I hate myself and the reason why I do drugs – the reason why I’ve tried to kill myself for so many times, but couldn’t do it because it made me feel like “I” was the loser in the fucking game, I couldn’t kill myself because my desire to have the ultimate revenge on him stopped me from throwing myself off of a building. And the many rooftop parties I’ve had in New York City, standing on top of the city, how every single time I was there thinking I should throw myself off the edge. But, I never did, because it would make my father win the game. While in the car with Jussu, I was still going insane. It’s not like you do this to a person every day. But it felt so good. I really needed this and I can’t understand why I’ve never done this before! So pathetic. If I could I would do it all over again, just to relive the moment of seeing his scared dying eyes, the empty look in his face when life hits death and his body runs cold. This was the best day of my fucking life. How I wonder, would my mother be proud of me or would she hate me now? She hated that man. He’s the reason why she killed herself. Do we get to discuss this one day, mother?

But this is also a beginning of a whole new (paranoid) chapter. It’s the first thing the very next morning that Jussu was trying to make me clear. I realized my mind was still not fully ‘there’, far away from recovery, as I was sitting on the couch feeling empty but yet still being ‘there’ in the moment of last night’s activities. But Jussu is a rude son of a bitch and just like many people having patience dealing with my absent schizo mind most of the time, Jussu didn’t have time for that at all. He slapped me in the face a million times to wake me up, screaming at me. For once, I was treated like a normal human being, equally, not the kind of being to be concerned about all the time. However, it kind of helped me to wake up a little. Just the way my father rolled, as he had no time for my mental instability, even though my father struggled with schizophrenia himself. So… I hope I can keep this in control, feeling mentally instable like this, there’s a possibility I could think Jussu actually IS my father. But please, don’t get too lost in my mind, I thought to myself. And so did Jussu say, as he yelled at me, “you’re gonna do exactly what I’m telling you, and one thing specially; DO NOT GET LOST IN YOUR HEAD”. Jussu is not the kind of man to fuck with, he’s been in this business for 20 years, a dangerous man with blood on his hands. I have to accept the lines of my new boss. He’s 53 years old, smells awfully, drinks and smokes a lot, looks like Santa Claus. He’s the kind of man you have to get to know better until he becomes nice to you. Sounds like a 53 -years old me. This man, he’s gonna make sure nobody finds out as long as I bring these supplies safely to England. In return I get some stacks to flee. He makes sure I will get away with the situation to continue my life. I have to trust him on that.

It’s one week later now and we have left the country awhile ago. We’ve been traveling from the north of Finland all the way to the south of Germany now. I will not recall the exact locations because I’m dealing with crazy paranoia these days. About that; it reminds me of how ill I am, in my mind, that in times like these schizophrenia is really trying to kill me. I struggle a lot, but I try to drown the darkness in my mind by drinking vodka all day. But honestly, this is what I get in return, I was aware of that even before the action. I knew I would become very paranoid, I always do when I do ‘such things’. I had to flee from The Netherlands back in 2012, for the same reason but not as dramatic as this time. I still haven’t gone back to that country, and I still live with a second identity – I got rid off the paranoia for just a bit since that time, I mean life keeps you busy, but it’s always there, and now I’m fleeing again the paranoia and voices hit me like a backlash, like a powerful storm. These days I’m reminded of how sick I am, although I have my tricks to ignore whatever it is that I hear in my mind, but it’s really fucking bad. My life is now separated in two sides; fleeing and trying to continue with my life, making sure that everything ends up fine, literally fighting for my freedom and my peace- but I am also feeling extremely down, suicidal you could say, because well, they keep screaming at me devastating words, scaring me by making me feel so paranoid, and it really puts me in a terrible mood. Sometimes I feel like crying or whatever. It’s that bad, and I truly mean that because usually I’m very detached and disconnected from my emotional side. But I gotta man-up for now, get through this misery like I did the last time I caused this kind of mayhem. Jussu will keep me distracted until he drops me off at the harbor in France. But we’re not there yet, it’s still a few days to go.

I just hope everything goes well for the upcoming time. I wouldn’t easily hurt a random person this bad, but this was my sweet revenge, I had to do it for myself, to feel emotionally free again, and I like to call it an act of self defense for my emotional progress. It was always him who haunted my mind, knowing he was still there trying to destroy me from a far distance. This is not the solution to kill my past traumas which he caused me, but he did not have the right to continue to live a life where he’s put the sickest marks on people without remorse, without a single ‘sorry’, a sorry for what he did to me and my mother, ..just until he was about to take his last breath, his wickedness reduced a bit and I could hear him whispering an excuse. I suppose it was too late. I finally had the power over him, and it was the sweetest feeling I’ve ever felt. Oh… how I would love to relive that night over and over again. I have no regrets at all, and I couldn’t feel more satisfied.

If I have to explain you why I feel no remorse about what I did to my father, it’s because I don’t see him as my father in the first place. Second, I lack empathy and I don’t even come close to feeling remorse or sorry to most people. But about my father, it’s because he never behaved like a father to me. I didn’t really have a father. He was just there, all the time, day and night, giving me and my mother nightmares. He was a demon in our house, and has been telling me that there’s a demon inside of him since I was little. He was viciously violent, aggressive, threatening and a danger to his surroundings. He threw knifes around the house, he attacked me or my mother out of the sudden without any warning. Sometimes I think of it as a miracle that I survived my youth with him. I don’t know what made him do what he did to us, it’s his aggressive nature, which is something I deal with, too, but he couldn’t stop. There were not periods where he was even a little bit nice to me, or trying to behave like a father should. He was a Satanist, which shouldn’t be a bad thing at all, but he was just very dramatic about it. He saw himself as a “God”, and he taught me to do the same. He was addicted to alcohol, cocaine and heroin, never sober, and he forced me to take these kind of drugs when I was a child (except heroin, that happened in my teens). But he did taught me how to prepare and inject heroin in his veins when I was 6 years old, and when my mother would interfere in the situation, he would beat her up right in front of me until she lies unconsciously on the ground. My father was not really a big guy, he always reminded me of a skinny Peter Steele type of man, the long black hair, the metal -look, the angry look in his eyes. And even though he was not really physically big, he was very strong once his anger was triggered; probably caused by a combination of adrenaline and cocaine. Whatever my mother and I did in situations like that, which happened almost every day, we couldn’t fight him. We couldn’t stop him. My mother and I, we had no rights. We had to listen to my father, as we were his slaves. He raped us. He abused us. He stabbed me in the back when I was 17 years old when I was trying to escape from home during the night, as I was climbing out of my window, he stabbed me once in the back and I fell out of the window down on the ground – I’ve been in the hospital several times because of his acts. He always told me how he wanted to kill my mother, how he planned it all out, and after he killed her he would kill me. It was funny, because on the night I was with him a few weeks ago, to make him suffer, I looked around his house and saw papers full with a plan to kill me, papers and documents that went on for years. He never had the possibility to do so. But back in the old days, there was no chance for me and my mother, he tortured us for such a long time. I never wanted to take my friends to my home to hang out because I was ashamed of the whole situation, like my father saying crazy stuff, and the entire house covered with drug marks, sometimes blood on the walls because of all the abuse and what not. My father always said to me right before I left the house to go to school, that I should be home right after school to do heroin with him, and if I didn’t listen to him he would rape me. So, that’s how I got addicted to that stuff, but sometimes I couldn’t show up right after school, and I would receive the backlash during night. It was so fucking awful. It happened for years and years, over and over again. It made me sick. And I was dealing with crazy mental issues in my head, I went fully insane.

I’ve been dreaming about killing my father ever since I was a kid, because he was the demon in our house. I wrote songs about it, made paintings about it. All of my crazy fantasies lead to killing him. It started when he drowned my dog when I was a child, in the lake near our house in Finland. When I got home from school and I was looking for my dog everywhere around the house. Scooby, it was a miniature bull terrier, I got him for my birthday and it was the only thing that brought me happiness. Because my mother was always busy with my little brother Jesse, who was a baby back then, and I felt like she didn’t care about me anymore so Scooby became my best friend. And as I walked miles in the woods to find him, looked about 10 times in the shed, but only to find him lying dead in the lake, drowned, and my father was the one to blame for. He was standing right next on the land with that stupid smirk on his face that he always had whenever he did something evil. Something crazy. “That annoying bark is gone now, it’s gonna be you and me now”, I remember him saying. It was so fucking traumatic. It must have been one of my first childhood traumas. My father, he was a sadist, a sociopath, like a narcissist, a PSYCHOPATH, he liked to play with fire, with lives. He didn’t feel empathy, or emotion at all, just evilness and anger.

But just like my dog, he had been trying to drown me, too, while on a vacation to Finland when I was 15. He drugged me, I don’t know what he put in my drinks but it made me very dizzy. I don’t remember it clearly because I was out of this world, but I do remember him pushing my head under water in the lake, while he was screaming at me to die, he kept pushing me deeper and deeper under water, and eventually it was my uncle Anton who saved my life that time. He yelled at my father to quit that shit. And for some reason, my father doesn’t listen to anyone except for his own brothers. I don’t really remember what happened right after that. It’s not the first time he tried to kill me. During my teens, we lived in The Netherlands, where we had a dark basement where he did all his Satanic rituals, soul offering, prayers to the Devil, he dragged my mother and I into the whole Satanism thing. I consider myself a Satanist, but as a normal Satanist, I’m not an obsessed freak about it like my father was. While my mother was Jewish, it was especially her my father wanted to make her a Satanist and make her tell it to her family. The basement was very well isolated, you couldn’t hear a thing what was going downstairs in the basement when you were standing in the living room. My neighbors, they had no idea. They did know about my father, he was the notorious Satanist of the entire town, but they didn’t know what was really going on inside of the house. In that basement, he sexually abused me, at least once a week, as a punishment. I wasn’t a good person myself, and I refused to listen to him sometimes. He just wanted control over me and my mother with his stupid demands. I’m really trying to accept what happened, and for a greater part in my life I couldn’t talk about what happened in my past, but writing really helps. It’s just the sexual abuse part in my life that I still find very difficult to open up about. It pains me, still, even when I’m writing about it. And I still dream and see flashbacks about it very often that it completely paralyzes me to the bone. Whenever he dragged me down to the basement and started to rape me, to own me and control me, because that was his purpose, not because he was gay, it was so painful and as I was crying and screaming, he made it even worse. He yelled at me the kind of things, “I’m gonna rape ‘til death if you don’t shut your mouth”. He taped my mouth sometimes. It was very frightening because every time it happened I thought I was going to die, and sometimes, I just surrendered and let it happen, just wanting to die.

I’m in England now. I have arrived in Dover about 5 days ago. I still had the supplies with me, luckily, and everything went well. But what a terrible experience it was on the boat on my way to England. Fucking Hell. I went crazy. I was so scared the police were following me, and I constantly looked behind my back, I do so ever since I left Finland. I became so insanely paranoid to the point I became delusional when I literally saw a police man running up to me with a gun in his hand, screaming at me, I just fainted. It just went black for my eyes, I realized the voices stopped whispering, too. I woke up with a middle aged woman by my side, a British woman. She told me that I fainted and fell down on the ground, she was thinking I might be seasick so she offered me aspirin and I was all confused. I had no idea what I was saying but it was not properly English, or Finnish, I couldn’t get my speech in order. She found out that I was mentally confused and I had to spend the rest of my boat trip at the doctor where I refused to speak because I was dealing with illegality and crazy mental issues at the time. I didn’t want people around me at all.

I was happy to leave the boat where my friend Jaimy was there to pick me up. I know Jaimy from the same business but I met him in high school back in The Netherlands. We haven’t seen each other in years. We were in a fight because we both did something to a certain person, and I had to flee and so did he, and he refused to talk to me so I got pissed at him. I was not happy when he contacted me again after so many years, after everything that happened. But I had to go somewhere, and since he has a place in London now and takes part of the same business I ended up in now, he is the safest person to be with now. He picked me up at Dover harbor, as he was all excited to see me and acted all cool around me, I went really quiet. I wanted to talk but I still had to deal with the voices in my head that made my mind a chaos which causes me to speak pretty much disorganized and everything, it wouldn’t make any sense. I remember thinking, it’s better to keep my mouth shut. I heard 3 voices at the same time, 2 alien figures and Jaimy talking, in Dutch as well which made it even more confusing, so I just had to open the window and have some fresh air. I heard Jaimy saying, “dude, are you okay?” I saved all my energy to make my speech work as I turned to him and said, “no offense but can you shut your mouth for one second?” I really felt sick in my mind. He kept his mouth shut for the next hour until we arrived at his place. We went inside and he offered me some booze. Hell yeah, did I need that shit. Alcohol makes me function properly, and I’m glad Jaimy still remembered. After a few drinks I started to talk more, voices were still there but I could concentrate on my own words again. Jaimy noticed how I’ve went through stuff the past few weeks, it’s something you can easily notice - I lose weight, I have this scared, paranoid look in my eyes with a layer of bags underneath my eyes, I become twice as pale as usual. And especially my behavior tells everything. “I’m going to fix you, mate” he told me. He offered me some more booze. It was a good night.

The third day in London, I became very stressed and paranoid about everything again. I woke up during the night, suddenly, thinking

This shit doesn’t feel right. Why Jaimy of all the people? He must have something to do with this all. He has not spoken to me in years and out of nowhere he comes back in my life. Maybe he’s with the cops, maybe he’s my rivalry.

I tried to go back to sleep but these thoughts kept me wide awake. It became even worse.

What if he is trying to kill me? Maybe Jussu is my rivalry too, maybe every single person I spoke along the way is against me and trying to kill me. Fucking Hell, I need to get out of here before they have their revenge.

I got out of bed and was looking around the house for weapons that Jaimy might have hidden for me. I went to get a knife to defend myself, as I was walking to Jaimy sleeping in his bed. I woke him up and he jumped. “Calm down, man”, he said. I told him about the realization I just had. Thinking this is just an odd and suspicious situation. He tried to talk me out of it and I no longer had the knife in my hand. But in return, I wanted to look through his phone to see if he didn’t have any deals with people from the business about trying to kill me. He told me to just relax and go back to sleep. As I replied that maybe he should just listen to me now, in situations like these. That if he will not listen to what I demand, I’m going to be in the mood to kill him anyway. I need proof. So, I got his phone and went searching for an hour. All I found out was how many bitches Jaimy has and that he’s addicted to gambling games. A few texts with people from the business but he never mentioned my name. Sure, I apologized.

Situations like these happened for another few times but Jaimy fixed Xanax for me to help my anxiety go away, my paranoia for just a bit. I still hear voices but when I’m on Xanax they don’t really get to me. The fourth day in England I finished the deal, as I got stacks in return. It was a scary moment but yet very exciting, and I realized how much I missed the thrill of being in this business. At least I have some money with me now, but not enough to rent an apartment in New York City or Los Angeles- I suppose only for six months or so. But I need to continue to be part of this business for a while, to make some more stacks. I’m familiar with some of the people here. I know I can really get into this stuff again. In a way, I’m just like my father but with the unnecessary violence. I do like violence, but only to those who deserve it, who damage me and betray me. But now I have shaken him off my back, I feel like not only my life is going to change ; I feel myself slightly change. But I’m always changing, always going places. Eventually, I got rid off the biggest bug in my life, my father. That’s all that matters to me now.

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