I wrote quite a lot about stuff I am no expert in. I began my blog as a copycat of others. But that is okay, I am finding my voice. Today I want to write about something that I can really relate to. About a question that you can ask nobody because you would meet only shame and rejection.
Should you go on a rampage?
And yet it is a profound personal decision that many before you asked. But they could not ask, could they? So they had only themselves to talk to, only the confines of their own mind to reach a silent answer.
Society does not understand your rage and finds superficial answers that satisfy the symbolic mind: Video games, pornography. Ted Bundy even makes fun of that unsophisticated reasoning by using it as an explanation for his own behavior. Very funny to watch.
Of course, Ted Bundy was a psychopath – from my limited knowledge – and his words can mean little to you. A person who does not feel shame or guilt can hardly understand what you are going through.
On the other hand, if you are a psychopath, this article is not for you. I can only superficially relate to you then and thus offer no usable advice.
In this first part, I want to tell you who I am. In the following posts, I will then write about underlying motivations and desires, hypocritical morals and possible outcomes of your decision.
So, who am I to talk about rampage?
Well, for starters, I always attracted friends who had some crazy violent edge, usually hidden underneath.
With my first good friend in school, I spent many weekends building bombs and blowing up stuff in the forest. Nothing fancy, just potassium nitrate, flour and some magnesium powder. We also did airsoft gun matches. Once we shot some boy at school on his leg and got into trouble. It is nothing really dangerous, just a little bite. Anyway, it was all great fun doing this stuff together. There was no emotional depth in the friendship at all, but this common interest made up for it.
Once, we were filming some militaristic-type videos on the roof of our people-silo.We used Silvester crackers as sound effects. Somebody heard it and called the cops. They came with some kind of special commando unit and even said they had a sniper watch us. We had not really broken any law, though. They searched my room at home – my mother let them in, the bitch – and found a tiny 1-inch butterfly knife that was blunt. I had bought it at some Czech market near the border and it would probably fail to kill a wasp. Yet butterfly knives are forbidden and that is the one thing I got charged with. My friend had a big long diving knife with him and was allowed to take it home.
I was an outsider, fat and a loser with girls
I was always a fat kid and something of a clown for others. I lost weight around 17 and was pretty slim around 2 years ago, but I am about 40 pounds above that now. It is a constant fuck in my head.
Once a girl in class wrote me a love letter with a big lipstick kiss on it. It confused me, but also made me happy. Another dude came about touching her and saying look what a great catch for you, look at these breasts. I went to sleep with the fantasy of having her. My roommate at boarding school was glad for me. The next day she told me she had not really been serious. All the while, all the guys around me were having their first innocent experiences and even sexual encounters with girls.
That pattern went through my entire time at school. I was totally clue- and helpless. When a girl showed the slightest interest in me, I hoped for everything. But nothing ever came of it. By now, I pretty much hate girls as much as I desire them. I keep thinking they just want to trick me into thinking something could happen, to then use me as their emotional tampon.
I am now 26 and only had sex one time, with a rather weird girl who claimed she had Aspergers. She had an ugly face, too, but a nice slim body.
Yeah, I know about game and that stuff, but my brain keeps telling me that they are just cruel and want to hurt me. It is aI need to do something about.
I always liked ego shooters. They were simply fun.
I liked to create maps for Counter Strike and Unreal Tournament. Naturally, I used places I knew for this. The boarding school I lived at and part of my school. It was just great fun to play deathmatch in a place you actually know. Damn.
Also programmed a little text-based role playing game about the boarding school. Like where you need to go to therapy and then say the right thing by multiple choice. Unfortunately, my little computer broke down before I could continue.
I was proud of my little achievments and told the elders at the boarding school about it, because I liked to get approval. They seemed superficially interested, but that was about it.
Eventually, there was some other incident wherewhich led to me having a discussion with my school director. The people from the boarding school were there, too, and the stupid bitches had fabricated a fantasy story out of the pieces of information I had given them. They concluded that I had programmed a game where I run through the school and boarding school and murder teachers and therapists.
This was surely motivated by the climate of fear of school rampages that was already taking a hold of life back then.
But it was, to me, also a proof that adults – other people – are just fucking stupid and see what they want to see, especially if the do not like you. You show them a piece of the puzzle and they think they are being smart by making deliberate connections. Assume that atoms are made like solar systems and similarly nonsensical stuff.
A later incident proved me right.
Not that I would shame anybody who actually makes a game where you can murder teachers. But I simply had not done it. I am not angered that someone assumes I could have done it. I am angered because people just do not give a shit about whether it actually happened.
Back then, I was just a sheep like everybody else. Sure, I was blowing up stuff, but I could not connect the dots yet. I did not even consciously know that I was feeling much of the same frustration and anger, because it was such a natural part of me or because I projected it into the world and assumed that life just feels like that.
It angered me, though, that politicians attacked video games as the cause. I was not sure what other explanation there could be, but that did not make sense.
Today I look at Bastian, at his voice, at his body language and all I can think is: Video games did that? Really? How about isolation, loneliness, no real parental love? , as much as you want to. You can not force people to love each other. And politicians need to give simple answers. Clear-cut solutions.
I created a documentary about the whole incident and tried to show some compassion without taking sides. I was still acting as an agent of the system, though. My message was: We can understand him, but that does not mean it is right what he did.
I was a bitch. Moralizing, if even so subtly. Maybe the subtlety made it only that much more manipulative and dishonest. Today, I think there is no right. There is only the law of those in power.
I got many positive comments on the video, before I eventually had to delete it due to copyright infringment. It is gone, do not even bother to ask.
Anyway, some other dude from my city saw the movie and contacted me.
The other dude
This guy was quite a sympathizer with Bastian and about on the same wavelength as me, at least intellectually. My friendships were all just intellectual, I did not know anything else. Did I even really know what emotions were apart from enjoying to blow up things? I am not sure..
One day, I saw his social media pictures at the front page of a newspaper. Made me kinda proud to be part of that, me little narcissistic sheep.
The guy had sent an email to the police, threatening to go on a rampage. It was a mere joke to him, but the police sent out hundreds of guys who knocked on every fucking door and asked: Was this you?
When they knocked at his door, he said Yup.
At least that is what he told me. I do believe him, because I know that the police is stupid.
But in the newspapers and official reports, they would talk about the genius of the police force and how the police’s computer experts had traced him. They use all the scientific sounding words to make themselves look good.
The guy had put up pottery as his hobby on social media. The newspapers ate it up. They wrote those cool headlines: Who was he? The silent guy who liked pottery? Weird, weird, weird.
We laughed to death about it.
He eventually had to pay 15.000 Euros and spent some time in jail. We went to cinema together a few times. He was a fun guy. Not some kind of monster. Sure, he had his problems, probably even big ones. But so what?
On tv, it always seems so alien, so remote. That must have been some weird guy. Well, people, let me tell you: You are all weird.
Even as time went on, I kept attracting that sort of people. Nothing had changed about me.
Until recently, I used to talk to a guy in the park. He had been in depression for a long time and told me he hated everybody and contemplates rampage. I arrogantly tried to motivate him not to hate and asked him whether he hated me. But I was just pretending. It was just a mask. I felt I was better than him, but I was not.
Feeling better than him made me feel like I belonged to the right people. That I was normal. That I had no problems. Because cool people do not have problems. Cool people are fucking lions!
And in that arrogance, I could always project all my problems on others and smart-assedly tell them how to solve it all. Feel like it was not part of my own life. Of course, I was having the same problems. Of course, my proposed solutions did not work for me, either. I was just uttering what I had heard. To feel smart and superior; and I enjoyed to patronize.
Let us all pretend to be happy, because happy people are cool. But the truth is: People who are and docile, they are not so dangerous to .
Until they explode, that is.
Eventually he told me that I annoyed him and we went separate ways. Had I been honest, I would have done the same earlier.
Descent into loneliness
Over the last two years, I lost contact to everybody. I finally told my mother to go fuck herself, kept doing a job I hated, kicked all my friends out of my life, eventually quit the job. , and with both I failed miserably.
Then followed months of isolation. Reading Manosphere blogs. Martial arts, too, but I did not go there to make friends.
I kept failing to lose weight. Kept being undisciplined with work. Failed to go out and actually talk to girls, as I thought I wanted to.
Eventually got a fine project, but I am in financial trouble, did not manage well.
All the time, I was not happy. Something was simmering under the surface, waiting to come out and be recognized. I got a glimpse of it on Ayahuasca and magic mushrooms, but kept ignoring it. I was not one to talk or think about emotions. Wanted to be more of a stoic dude.
But I did not really have the energy to be that great hero I wanted to be.
Incident with the police
I think I finally reconnected with my own rage when the police knocked at my door and took away my computers, with my projects, photography, videos, music, everything.
For something I did not do.
And it will likely get me into a lot of financial trouble, too.
One step to the ledge
All in all, in hindsight, I gotta say I am pretty much a big loser at life. Aside from the fact that I am a good programmer, there is little redeeming about me.
There were many times during the past year when I half-seriously contemplated suicide. The thought calmed me. It feels freeing. Taking my life into my own hands. No, I do not want anybody to cry at my grave. I prefer that nobody even know I existed. I do not want to feel guilty for dying. I want to have the fucking freedom to end this life.
But I can not do it. There are things I desire – women – and even the faint hope that I may reach them keeps me from killing myself.
In that moment, in that rage, though, I realized that I was one step ahead of murder. I realized that if I did not have a damn good idea, I would be bound to do it, because it was the only outlet I could think of. It felt right. It was an emotion that needed expression, desperately.
Asking for help
I recalled something I had read in No More Mr. Nice Guy. About having a safe person who will not shame you.
It felt stupid. Damn circle-jerk whining, right? I want to be able to do it alone. I want to be nobody’s fucking sheep. But in that moment, I realized that alone on autopilot, I would eventually self-destruct and take with me whatever I could.
So I wrote a letter to an acquaintance, one I hoped would understand. I was honest. I said dude, I just do not know what to do. I can not control the rage anymore. I want to see the world burn. Life has been throwing shit at me since I can remember and now they expect me to keep playing nice. It is killing me. I am confused and alone.
He answered promtply and told me he does understand. He told me he had compassion and sent me his love. I told him that I have none to give back. I am empty. He said that is okay.
I felt appreciated, for the first time in my life, for who I really was. All that approval to date? It was fake. It was approval, but of someone I was not. Thus, it was useless.
And, what surprised me the most: I did not feel like a sheep at all.
I did not feel those invisible strings attached to me, from now on making me a slave of the person who had given love. The strings I so feared. No, I could simply receive and retreat.
I do not want pity..
It was this condescending and melodramatic pity that I feared the most. But instead, it was just: Hey man, it is all cool. I understand.
And he did not just say that, because that would be meaningless. I know some of his past. He really does understand. And that makes all the difference. It is not just a psycho trick to make you calm down.
And I did not have to fake anything to get that. Read: I did not have to fake anything. I did not have to pretend to be less of an asshole than I am, formulate it in a nicer way than I meant to,, or give anything in return.
The wish to blindly murder or hurt without goal faded away enough for me to be able to control it.
So, if you are feeling what I felt: I understand. I can not send love, but I understand.
This is it for now. I will write more soon.