How To Save A Life

Chapter Seven

After an afternoon of my parents lecturing me about getting detention again, they finally turned in for the night. I loved when they went to bed. That means that I finally have some time alone with my thoughts and my private journal. I skipped dinner like I always do and stayed in my room. I like to isolate myself from my family. I just hope my brother doesn't decide to make a surprise visit from college like he does sometimes. I don't want him to see me at this state in my life.

An old therapist I use to have recommended that I write in a journal whenever I'm angry. He said it is better to get the words out on paper than the words out of my mouth. It caused less trouble that way. But, really, it released a whole wave of built up anger that I didn't notice I had. I had a strong hate towards everything. Parents, school, society. And, all that was released onto those notebook papers. Since my therapy sessions ended, I have written in five notebooks with just pure anger scrawled all over the page. My handwriting barely legible because of how hard my grip was on the pencil while writing.

I wrote in these journals not only because my therapist told me too, but because it gives me a way to express myself in a way that wouldn't be considered healthy to the people. I've been writing in these journals now almost every single day since I first started planning the attack. I want everyone to remember what they did to me. I want them to remember the monster they have forced into me.

The things I write in these journals were never really pleasant. All the pages were covered in was pure anger. All the pages were the emotions that have been built up in me. 

1/22/16

The planning massacre is going to be so big that it will put all past massacres to shame. I will use more weapons and build a shit load of pipe bombs. An atomic bomb will be set in the library the morning of May 16th. I'll kill anyone in sight. Anyone who has been a threat to me for the past four frickin' years. To any of those people who have given me and my boy shit all throughout high school. You jerks called us gay, dumb, and stupid. You've called us every word in the book. You pushed us around. Embarrassed us in front of the whole school. The marks on my body they have left me will never be healed.

Now, I don't give a shit what they do to me. I'm gonna be dead. I'm going to kill myself and them. I'll be long gone by the time the cops come searching. The school won't even be recognizable when I'm done. The school will just be a big crumble.

I have made twenty-one pipe bombs during the past week. If I can continue to make that amount or more each week until the middle of May, I will have over a hundred pipe bombs.

Everyone at Kingston High School sucks. They all put this anger in me. I don't care who these people were. I am going to kill them anyway before killing myself with a double barrel shotgun, I'll be dead instantly. And just like me, this world will be dead. And you all at Kingston High will pay.

This world sucks. Every human being sucks. This world shouldn't suck as much as it does. When has society decided that you must have a six pack and a porches to be popular to everyone? Society has made me into the person I am today. All because it refused to accept me for who I am.

I don't wear the most fashionable clothes or have slept with every girl slut in this god, mother f-bomb of a school. I chose nothing. I'd rather be nothing than associate with these low lives.

You led me here. You made me this homicidal monster. And you are going to pay for it. All of it. You'll pay as a cry out for mercy and a damn shotgun held to your head. I won't hesitate before I shoot. I'll shoot you no matter what. I never lied when I said I was going to kill you.

Society has failed me and people have done the same. But Mission Zero will  put my mark on the map. And, it"s going to be epic.

I don't care anymore. Because I'm gonna die doing it.

The anger I release into my journals about my school scares me sometimes. My hatred towards the school community isn't standard. People are going to try and see if they can help. Like I've said before, I am passed help. 

I sat there, debating what I should do next. I wasn't tired. I was never tired. I ran my hands down my face, feeling the tears slowly start to fall down as I thought about the plan. But, this was something I felt that I had to do in order to make things right. My eyes soon landed upon the small metal box on the corner of my desk. 

I didn't hesitate before pulling over the box and opening it. It was my box of razors. Each razor has been cleaned except for the inside of the box where there was some blood sploshes from when my arm was still bleeding and dripped into the box. I went ahead and grabbed a random razor from the box. I examined the razor for any ragged edges or broken slits. I honestly don't know why I care what the razor looks like. I guess I just don't want any risk of an infection because if my arm got infected my parents will definitely know what I have been doing for the past couple years. 

It's been a few weeks since I pulled out a razor on myself. I've tried to stop cutting but that thought never lasted so I just gave up on trying. So, if I feel that I need to cut, I will cut.

I wiped away a stray tear and sighed before placing the blade to my wrist. I wasn't hesitant as I glide it across my skin, watching the blood start to come out. It hurt. But, it didn't hurt as bad as my life. 

KNOW THE SIGNS:

-Making overt threats of violence, in pictures, videos, spoken or written words.

-Lack of coping, anger management and/or conflict resolutions skills.

-Homicidal ideation.

-Major change in eating or sleeping habits.