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A while ago, I followed an IG account of a Japanese woman. I thought she was cute and I like seeing pretty things on my feed. Recently she came up again on my screen.
But this time for an entirely different reason. Her name is Yuka Takaoka. Or as the internet has come to know her, the Yandere Girl. My heart pounded in my chest when I began to read and look at the photographs of the crime that had taken place only a few days ago. I was shocked yet excited. I've not been this excited since Miss Columbine. I just adore the unusual, disturbing and morbid.
This is the closest I've ever been to a criminal. This may be the only time I've come close to a criminal and maybe my last if I don't take up my criminology course in university. My mind was in a dimly lit place before but lately...
It's going into a darker place. I don't wanna stop, I wanna embrace it, it's the only thing waking me up and pushing me forward. I enjoy it so much and my knowledge goes far on the disturbing. I could write books on this, I could write stories that involve this.
When I was diagnosed with Autism, the assessor said she met many people who are Autistic that have a passion for criminals. I told her why I think this might be and she agreed. Many people who work in criminology have some form of special needs that has had them locked on this passion. I think due to my working diagnosis of another mental illness it has me obsessed. I'm labelled as a Cause For Concern anyway, I'm sure if I go too far they'll tell me to stop and they'll give me more help than I had before.
My heart is pounding and the anxiety that sat in my stomach changed to excitement. Fuck that anxiety and that bitch who gave it to me. She's inspired monsters and characters. That's as much as I'll thank her for.
But this time for an entirely different reason. Her name is Yuka Takaoka. Or as the internet has come to know her, the Yandere Girl. My heart pounded in my chest when I began to read and look at the photographs of the crime that had taken place only a few days ago. I was shocked yet excited. I've not been this excited since Miss Columbine. I just adore the unusual, disturbing and morbid.
This is the closest I've ever been to a criminal. This may be the only time I've come close to a criminal and maybe my last if I don't take up my criminology course in university. My mind was in a dimly lit place before but lately...
It's going into a darker place. I don't wanna stop, I wanna embrace it, it's the only thing waking me up and pushing me forward. I enjoy it so much and my knowledge goes far on the disturbing. I could write books on this, I could write stories that involve this.
When I was diagnosed with Autism, the assessor said she met many people who are Autistic that have a passion for criminals. I told her why I think this might be and she agreed. Many people who work in criminology have some form of special needs that has had them locked on this passion. I think due to my working diagnosis of another mental illness it has me obsessed. I'm labelled as a Cause For Concern anyway, I'm sure if I go too far they'll tell me to stop and they'll give me more help than I had before.
My heart is pounding and the anxiety that sat in my stomach changed to excitement. Fuck that anxiety and that bitch who gave it to me. She's inspired monsters and characters. That's as much as I'll thank her for.
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Over the past year or so I've given myself my own life expectancy. I think about all the times I tried to die before this and I'm honestly surprised I made it into my twenties. I didn't plan this far ahead. I'm too stuck in my body issues and trauma to think about my future. It's the last thing on my mind.
I've debated on jumping in front of a train, taking all the medication I can get my hands on, finding the tallest building or bridge and hoping that it can kill me if I jump just right. Each time, something has stopped me be it because I didn't want to traumatise a child, I felt something within me, or because my cat was looking at me with betrayal. It's always something. Now, it looks like I'm just going slowly, something I never seemed to want to fix or recover from because I just don't respect myself. Counting, counting, counting. I wish I could just have a slice of toast for dinner then just drink 10 bottles of water and call it a day. After all, three hundred calories is three hundred calories.
I'm turning 21 in a few months and I've taken to assuming that when I turn 28 I'd had enough and that's it. Whatever source I could use I'd do it because what else have I got left to lose?
Nothing.
Nothing at all. Even my own family don't expect anything to happen to me. My guardian has become blunt, not even a maybe, just a flat out "You aren't going to be anything". At least they are self aware. Not long after giving me a speech on how I'll never be able to become anything they said: "I know I don't make you happy". Maybe it means they'll be aware when the time comes that they were part of the problem.
I've debated on jumping in front of a train, taking all the medication I can get my hands on, finding the tallest building or bridge and hoping that it can kill me if I jump just right. Each time, something has stopped me be it because I didn't want to traumatise a child, I felt something within me, or because my cat was looking at me with betrayal. It's always something. Now, it looks like I'm just going slowly, something I never seemed to want to fix or recover from because I just don't respect myself. Counting, counting, counting. I wish I could just have a slice of toast for dinner then just drink 10 bottles of water and call it a day. After all, three hundred calories is three hundred calories.
I'm turning 21 in a few months and I've taken to assuming that when I turn 28 I'd had enough and that's it. Whatever source I could use I'd do it because what else have I got left to lose?
Nothing.
Nothing at all. Even my own family don't expect anything to happen to me. My guardian has become blunt, not even a maybe, just a flat out "You aren't going to be anything". At least they are self aware. Not long after giving me a speech on how I'll never be able to become anything they said: "I know I don't make you happy". Maybe it means they'll be aware when the time comes that they were part of the problem.
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Life, mind and body. Hearing stories after stories and lies after lies has made me begin to doubt my own memories. What used to be the truth soon turned out to be the lies. I've begun to realise I was born to be owned rather than to just exist as my own person.
Body
The more I began to look at my clothes the more I began to realise I had only picked half of those items, the rest I hardly wore but were expected to wear because "I should know how to dress proper". Because I'm expected to be like the belldam's little doll.
I found myself watching others more often than most, just starring longingly at people on the street or in the Underground or even on the bus. Occasionally peaking between the curtains at my window, staring at the people that passed the property. Just longing to know what it was like to be alive, to exist in a world that they wandered in. To exist in their world at all is more like a dream.
I own more sweaters and hoodies than I do regular t shirts and dress shirts. They are always an XL or even larger just so I can hide my body in them. I hate my body, whatever I see in the shower or glance at in the mirror. I wanna tear my skin apart. This disgusting scar covered tainted body. I used to wear the same pair of skinny jeans for months at a time but they aren't so skinny anymore.
Food
Food was something I ate without thinking, I never counted and never really thought about the things I was doing to myself. Until I wanted control. I wanted some form of control in my life, I was desperate. I found myself looking at certain words and falling into a community where becoming nothing but bones was beautiful. I told myself I can stop when I want. But, they never warn you. You can't stop.
Everyday I count now, I count the teaspoon of sugar I drop into my tea, I count the small packet of soy sauce I drop on my cucumber maki. I count the 100g of broccoli, the vegan burgers, the small slices of chicken, the fucking cucumber, the dash of cooking oil, the small drop of milk, all of it! And I can't stop. I find myself counting and counting, whenever food is made for me and I've not served it myself I always only eat half. I don't even try anymore, I just so much as glance at something and the number just appears in my mind.
Envy
I'm envious of someone's figure. He's just so beautiful, he's all I wish I could be. I stare at his pictures often, just repeating to myself how when I have money and when my body is like his I'll be someone important. It's awful, he's on my mind everyday, that damned smile, his laugh, his kind words, his tears, his happiness, his entire fucking existence. Part of me wants to hate him and blame him for making me envious. It's no one's fault but my own.
Sometimes he appears in my nightmares, and I just find myself there, looking down at him, I'm so angry, so jealous! The horrible torture I put him through. I never want that to happen to anyone, not even the bitch who cheated on me.
Family
Family doesn't feel like a family to me, even though I live in a house with them I still find myself mumbling "I wish I could go home". It's not here, I don't know where it is, but it's not here. When I hear about how relaxed, happy and calming other homes are, I find myself longing to know what that feels like. To have parents who aren't lying and trying to control me. To have parents who don't tell others I am something I am not. To have parents who know who I am rather than to own and love the idea of me.
I feel so numb around them.
Mine
I want someone I can call mine. Mine without owning them, just mine as in a boyfriend or girlfriend. I'd love to have them in my arms or to be in theirs. To be beside someone who I know loves me.
Oh what I would give to be in your company.
I wonder which of the events caused me to fall onto my current path. Why? Why do I crave control and a life I cannot even have? Why I wander the nights, staring at neon lights, walking along with my hood up, headphones on in an attempt to turn the world off? Why do I lay in my bed in the early hours of the morning, questioning what is the point of even sitting up today?
Why do I crave to feel human so badly?
This morning when I woke up, I didn't leave my bed, I curled up into a ball, clutching my bottle of water, staring at the dimmed screen of my phone. I was staring at videos of him, looking through threads and forums on events that are probably going to be my own demise.
Despite the negative I still on occasions feel hope. I still lay there, telling myself "One day". One day I'll have my own apartment, living with someone I love, eating a katsu curry or pizza and laughing as we watch dumb cult movies from the 80s. I'll have a nice job, I'll have a life. I'll feel human.
Yet the rest of me is still convinced I'll never make it past 25.
Negan.
Body
The more I began to look at my clothes the more I began to realise I had only picked half of those items, the rest I hardly wore but were expected to wear because "I should know how to dress proper". Because I'm expected to be like the belldam's little doll.
I found myself watching others more often than most, just starring longingly at people on the street or in the Underground or even on the bus. Occasionally peaking between the curtains at my window, staring at the people that passed the property. Just longing to know what it was like to be alive, to exist in a world that they wandered in. To exist in their world at all is more like a dream.
I own more sweaters and hoodies than I do regular t shirts and dress shirts. They are always an XL or even larger just so I can hide my body in them. I hate my body, whatever I see in the shower or glance at in the mirror. I wanna tear my skin apart. This disgusting scar covered tainted body. I used to wear the same pair of skinny jeans for months at a time but they aren't so skinny anymore.
Food
Food was something I ate without thinking, I never counted and never really thought about the things I was doing to myself. Until I wanted control. I wanted some form of control in my life, I was desperate. I found myself looking at certain words and falling into a community where becoming nothing but bones was beautiful. I told myself I can stop when I want. But, they never warn you. You can't stop.
Everyday I count now, I count the teaspoon of sugar I drop into my tea, I count the small packet of soy sauce I drop on my cucumber maki. I count the 100g of broccoli, the vegan burgers, the small slices of chicken, the fucking cucumber, the dash of cooking oil, the small drop of milk, all of it! And I can't stop. I find myself counting and counting, whenever food is made for me and I've not served it myself I always only eat half. I don't even try anymore, I just so much as glance at something and the number just appears in my mind.
Envy
I'm envious of someone's figure. He's just so beautiful, he's all I wish I could be. I stare at his pictures often, just repeating to myself how when I have money and when my body is like his I'll be someone important. It's awful, he's on my mind everyday, that damned smile, his laugh, his kind words, his tears, his happiness, his entire fucking existence. Part of me wants to hate him and blame him for making me envious. It's no one's fault but my own.
Sometimes he appears in my nightmares, and I just find myself there, looking down at him, I'm so angry, so jealous! The horrible torture I put him through. I never want that to happen to anyone, not even the bitch who cheated on me.
Family
Family doesn't feel like a family to me, even though I live in a house with them I still find myself mumbling "I wish I could go home". It's not here, I don't know where it is, but it's not here. When I hear about how relaxed, happy and calming other homes are, I find myself longing to know what that feels like. To have parents who aren't lying and trying to control me. To have parents who don't tell others I am something I am not. To have parents who know who I am rather than to own and love the idea of me.
I feel so numb around them.
Mine
I want someone I can call mine. Mine without owning them, just mine as in a boyfriend or girlfriend. I'd love to have them in my arms or to be in theirs. To be beside someone who I know loves me.
Oh what I would give to be in your company.
I wonder which of the events caused me to fall onto my current path. Why? Why do I crave control and a life I cannot even have? Why I wander the nights, staring at neon lights, walking along with my hood up, headphones on in an attempt to turn the world off? Why do I lay in my bed in the early hours of the morning, questioning what is the point of even sitting up today?
Why do I crave to feel human so badly?
This morning when I woke up, I didn't leave my bed, I curled up into a ball, clutching my bottle of water, staring at the dimmed screen of my phone. I was staring at videos of him, looking through threads and forums on events that are probably going to be my own demise.
Despite the negative I still on occasions feel hope. I still lay there, telling myself "One day". One day I'll have my own apartment, living with someone I love, eating a katsu curry or pizza and laughing as we watch dumb cult movies from the 80s. I'll have a nice job, I'll have a life. I'll feel human.
Yet the rest of me is still convinced I'll never make it past 25.
Negan.
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