𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨́𝐧 𝐈𝐯𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟑.

𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯
I was consumed by an overwhelming obsession for Ivy. I couldn't get her out of my mind, and I wanted nothing more than for her to openly express her deep desire for me or to admit that she preferred spending time with me above anything else. It didn't matter that she didn't acknowledge these feelings; it only fueled my determination to bring them out of her. I craved her anger, her hatred towards me. I wanted nothing more than for her to take all of her anger out on me.

Physically & Mentally

I needed her to miss me so much that she would eventually break and unleash all her pent-up emotions upon me. I desired to evoke such strong reactions from her that it would leave a lasting impact, ultimately causing her pain in the end. Perhaps to some, my words may have seemed unhinged or irrational, but to me, they were perfectly sensible. In my mind, my thoughts and desires were grounded in a logic that made perfect sense.

Without a doubt, I am fully aware of my mental condition. I'm completely conscious of the fact that I lack something that many others possess, but I simply chose to disregard it. Instead of seeking help, I allowed my mental illness to shape my perception of reality. During my teenage years, when I first became aware that something was amiss, I tried taking prescribed medication to alleviate my struggles. However, rather than providing relief, it only left me feeling emotionally numb.

When I was just thirteen years old, I received multiple diagnosis that shaped the course of my life: depression, bipolar disorder, attachment disorder, PTSD, and even anti-social personality disorder. It was a heavy load for someone so young to carry, but strangely enough, I never truly felt the weight of those experiences. Throughout my entire 'childhood', I existed in a state of emotional detachment.

Happiness always seemed just out of reach, and while most people would find that disheartening, it didn't affect me as deeply as it might for others. I detested being pitied or treated like a child. In fact, I loathed it so intensely that it often drove me to resort to physical aggression. It may seem twisted to harm someone who was supposedly showing concern, but for me, it felt like the complete opposite. The only kind of care I ever received seemed insincere, given out of pity rather than genuine empathy.

If I let someone into my life, that was the sole path for me to find comfort, even though deep down, I doubted it would ever happen. Naturally, I didn't anticipate anyone feeling sympathy for someone with a history of committing heinous crimes. When I was initially 'caught' and confined to the mental asylum, all I received were disgusted glares, but truth be told, I wasn't particularly bothered by them.

There was nothing I despised more than being pitied. Despite grappling with my various mental disorders, I remained aware of my actions. I don't regret any horrible thing I've ever done in my life.

Killing my parents being one of them.

It was as if Ivy possessed a magnetic pull, compelling me to seek her out, to become her constant companion. There was an undeniable spell that grew stronger with each passing moment. I wanted to be in her presence day after day; to be her shadow. Yet, amidst this, an uncertainty crept in, casting doubt upon my intentions. This feeling was unfamiliar territory for me, as I had never found problems within hurting people mentally.