all monsters are lonely, wretched and unheard

this is maybe one of those emotional nights ive had as someone who doesnt feel actual emotion often. this isn't a negative blog, my life is getting better and im getting happier, but im feeling extremely retrospective.

my father screamed at me again. i didnt eat a sandwich because i dont like them and i have many problems with food, and he doesn't take no for an answer. it was funny to me at the time, i called him a cunt and radiated his anger back to him and felt fine if not annoyed. but now im back home.

one of my main complaints with my mother is that she never respected my transgenderism. its something im both sensitive and defensive over, and probably the thing ive cried the most over. im crying writing this, actually. but she called me by my name. she said the name victor was fine and that she never meant to dismiss me, and that she sees me as genderless, and that i'll always be her child. i cried almost instantly the second she said my real name. four years of crying, of thinking to kill her for her not accepting me, and she finally did it. 

i'm sad in the same way i was when i was younger, only somewhat corrupted by anger. betrayal and corruption stung my innocent, bright soul, the salt of my tears infecting my eyes and turning me into the creature i am now. the monster . i realise now that.. i do not like anger. i do not like my anger, which is born from the heart of a child so deeply wounded that the claws had infected his heart. the hatred and distrust born from the soul of the child that had nothing but the teeth his parents had kicked out of him. i dont want to be angry. i dont want to fight, i dont want to tear at peoples throats. i dont want to feel hatred, that emotion that has turned me so deeply sour. i want peace; peace outside of my family, outside of myself. silence and soulful rest is, from a young age, all ive ever wanted. to not be harmed anymore, in any way. i yearn for silence, a silence i never got, and shall maybe never get. a quiet that i have been fighting for all of my life, though most of the time, that fighting was turned to people who i was meant to love and cherish. people who loved and cherished me despite my fangs and claws, who accepted my bristles and ugliness, and who i hurt regardless.

i dont want to bite. i dont want to be around these people who make me so angry. the child in me is terrified of my wrath, of my toxicity, like how i was scared of my parents. i dont feel like my body.

but why would they do that? why keep me in that place for so long? i know of no mother or father to cling to, to call for in times of need, since neither were never there for me. i do not cling to the one who gave me life, but rather to my own scars. i do not yearn for love because i was never shown it. i was never given it. i cannot love others because of that too. i am the inbred progeny of abuse, torture and the deepest despair of mankind; i am a creature born of corruption whose only task is to harm until it feels its restful peace. i am so hurt. i have hurt so many others. i am nothing but an animal of automation, the rotten old oil of this machine. i am a mistake, i am a consequence for society to marvel at and then raise its pitchforks to. to some, i should die. to some, i should live forever.

i am the corruption in the shark eye of the one who hits you. i am the tears of the child with blood running down his cheek. i am the soft wool of the lamb and the gun of the sports hunter. i am the same terror that is the background of the worst criminals you've heard of. i am the purity and peace you hear about in god's heaven. i am twisted, black and white violence. i am the beautiful son of desire. i am.