I shared this story with my close friends once before and they turned me away immediately. They told people at school about it. About how everyone goes through bad things but they don’t hurt people. They said I was going to do something bad again one day.
I don’t tell people anymore. All they hear is that I tried to kill my parents when I was very young. But they never think to wonder why a four year old child would feel like violence is their only option. After hearing the first bit, nobody listens further.
My parents didn’t want kids. My mom was a drug addict starting at age 15 and my dad was raised by South Korean immigrants- their relationship was rocky and he spent all of this time outside the home. He never learned anything and ended up getting stuck in construction work. While he was working, my mom would invite her drug dealer over and she would have sex with him in return for pain killers. This guy was very aggressive and I would stay away from him. He’d threaten my dad when he came home. My mom once told him that her drug dealer has a gun and that he’s “a good person to know” . I read all this is custody papers. She’s go to parties and stay gone for days. Once she fell asleep on the couch so I left the apartment and wandered across the street. To this day it’s a relief I just ran into other toddlers playing in their yard. My dad was furious with my mom for continually failing to be better for me. He’d come home and find bent spoons in the dishwasher and I’d be unfed and dirty. As a baby my grandparents who looked after me didn’t take care of me, I spend all my time in a room in the basement, no diaper changes, no food, no checkups, nothing. My grandma would make racist remarks basically saying that whatever they fed me was better than what my dad’s mother could provide.
I stayed in multiple women’s homes with my mom when I was a toddler (this was around when the frozen movie came out) it was Christmas time and a random guy at the home gave me a frozen themed notebook. When we went back to the apartment and the custody battle began I couldn’t take it anymore being with my mom. People wonder how I could have done something to her, but I didn’t see her as my mom. She was just some woman that kept me from having a fulfilled life. I figured if I didn’t get rid of her now then we would never be happy. I wanted it to just be me and my dad. I saw potential in him, we could be happy.
I put lavender scented chemicals into her mug. I watched her drink it from the doorway. She cringed at the taste and spit it back out, that’s when she noticed me. She laughed at me for being silly, patted my head and left the room. I was so disappointed. I felt like I failed. Eventually my dad did win custody and I lived with him. And he didn’t live up to my expectations either. One evening when I was in third grade, I was struggling with some math homework (I am terrible at math to this day) and he got so angry I didn’t understand. Whenever he was angry my brain short circuits and I can’t escape his questioning. This happened today as well.
He punched the glass kitchen table and it shattered all over my legs. I was crying so hard- because that’s when I knew both my parents had failed. I was never going to have what other kids had, I was never going to live in a nice house, I was never going be feel comfortable.
A few years later, I learned that a specific kind of cherry pits are dangerous in large amounts so I crushed the pits up into a fine paste and split them into a brownie my dad hadn’t eaten jet. I don’t remember if either of these moments were methodical and planned or impulsive- same day choices. But my dad ended up throwing the brownie away because it was old.
I don’t think about my dads much, but I’m always haunted by what I did to my mom. Mostly because that’s what I told my friends that day and the way they judged me still haunts me, almost more than the act itself. I let it get to me so much, I spent like two years of school just flunking every class because I was lost in my head wondering if the awful person they’re describing is really me. I can’t describe the emotions I’ve felt over the years in this one post. But I want whoever’s reading this to know that I don’t want to be a bad person. This year there was a school shooting (it turned out to be a prank call but we had no idea) and I had a Swiss Army knife ready to go tucked under my arm. I felt that if I needed to I was ready to kill the shooter, or at least try to.
My boyfriend makes me feel like who I was supposed to be all along, I’m calm and happy for the most part when I’m around him. And I will chase a life like that until I achieve it. Many years ago I followed a kid in my neighborhood with a small pocket knife just to see how I would feel, if my friends were right. The kid eventually noticed me after a long time and I felt sick. Looking back I displayed all the warning signs for a teen murderer or upcoming serial killer. But after I met my boyfriend and experienced some other deeply traumatic events that just knocked the wind out of me.. I just didn’t feel like that anymore. Sometimes I get periods where I feel similar to that but nothing to the extreme. I have no access to therapy but I see a bright future for myself. I’m moving abroad to the country side with my boyfriend, I’ll study something I like and build a comfy life I’ve always needed.