Addiction.

Sam

I don't talk a lot.
I don't like human confrontation.
I don't like socializing.
I don't like to "feel."
however,
I like to be alone.

When I was 7, my mothers husband had raped and abused me. This had gone on for years until I was finally fed up with what he had done to me, and to my mother. When I was only 13, I killed him.

Yes, I killed someone.

Every single day, he would wake up and either abuse me or my mother. then in the depths of night, he would sneak out of my mothers & his dark, locked room and jump into my bed.

He made me preform sexual acts on him, and he did it in return.

He had told me he made me the man I had always wanted to be. I believed him at first, but I soon realized how fucked up it was. I was too pussy to tell my mom, dumb decision I know.
I blame it all on myself.
Maybe if I would have spoke up sooner?
Maybe if i did something to end him sooner?
Maybe we wouldn't be here right now, maybe I wouldn't even be here possibly.

Even after all the pain he has put my mother & i through, i still feel remorse for killing him.

Seeing his lifeless body, laying there.
Blood dripping down his head, his eyes rolled all the way back in his head.

How did it get to the point that i had to kill him? trust me it wasn't the easiest thing to do.

However,
It was either me or him.