When I was around 4 years old I was told by my parents I wouldn’t be seeing my grandfather for a while. They didn’t give me any specific details they only told me he had to go away for a while. Through the years everytime I asked about him they would tell me these obviously made up stories. As I got older I realised he wasn’t such a nice man and that must’ve been the reason he was sent away. Where he was sent and by who, I don’t know.
On the day of my 18th birthday my parents finally decided to tell me what had happened. They told me my grandfather used to be such a kind and gentle man however one time when he returned from a business trip he seemed… off… he started to get violent towards my grandmother and eventually started hitting her. Apparently strange things occurred in their house that couldn’t be explained by either one of them. My grandfather went missing one night and he was later found in a forest. He was completely nude and kneeled down in the middle of a field mumbling to himself.
Any attempt to make conversation with him was met with violent outbursts and so he was sent away. They didn’t tell me where he was today or if his behaviour improved. They just left it at that. My grandmother had moved on and put all of that behind her. Or that’s what she would have us believe. Deep down she had her own concerns and regrets and I had to find out what they were.
A few days later I went to her house and we started to chat.
“So, grandma, about grandpa…”
She stopped me right there. I didn’t have time to get another word out before she started to speak.
“I know your parents told you what happened. But take it from me, the woman who loved that man for my whole life. What happened to your grandfather was not his fault. And it pains me that your parents blame him for what had happened. You see, any time he yelled at me, hit me or pushed me… I could see in his eyes the pain and suffering that caused him. The emotion in his eyes did not match his face or his actions.. he was suffering in there.. yes I was hit, bruised and battered… but not by your grandfather.. by something much more sinister..”
So many thoughts and questions run through my head. But I left. I went back home and went straight to bed.
A few months later and my parents called me downstairs. I stumbled down and they were sitting in the kitchen with a tall man in a suit standing right in the middle. He was a lawyer. Apparently my grandfather had passed away and the only thing in his will was for me. He handed me a small wooden box and I signed some papers. He hurried out and I returned back to my bedroom. I placed the box onto my bed and slowly opened it up..
It was empty. Absolutely nothing inside apart from dust and a few cobwebs. I closed the box and threw it in my wardrobe. I decided to order a pizza, half an hour later my doorbell rang so I ran downstairs to answer the door.
The pizza man was standing with my pizza and handed it over to me.
“That’ll be $16.89 sir”
I handed him some money and waited for my change. He messed around in his pockets looking for the money to make up my change.
I don’t know what came over me. I burst into a fit of rage and started yelling at him to hurry up and hand me my money. He looked up at me with a terrified expression on his face and quickly handed me my money.
I slammed the door shut and stormed up to my bedroom. Once I had calmed down the realisation of my actions kicked in. I can’t believe I yelled at him like that.. he didn’t do anything wrong and I just snapped..
I ate my food and put on my TV to watch some movies. I could hear my parents downstairs laughing together, I would occasionally turn the volume up to drown out their muffled voices but eventually I had enough. I raced downstairs and burst through into the living room.
“WILL YOU TWO PLEASE JUST SHUT IT. I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ALL OF THIS NOISE SO JUST WRAP IT UP!” I screamed at them louder than I had anticipated.
My father yelled at me to go back to my room.. I don’t know what came over me.. but I bunched my hand up into a fist and punched my father across the face. After he stumbled back I burst into tears. He lunged at me but my bother stood in the way and help him back. My mother turned to me, I had never seen her look so disappointed in me. She told me to leave and go stay with my grandmother. I ran out of the house and made my way to my grandma’s.
She opened the door and saw the state I was in.
“Come in.. your mother called. I know what happened”
I reluctantly made my way into her house and sat down on the sofa.
“Granny… im so sor-“ She cut me off before I could get any further.
“You don’t have to explain. You don’t know why you did those things am I correct?”
I nodded my head yes. Tears building up in my eyes.
She calmed me down and we spent the night just talking. Constantly trying to keep me comfortable.
I stayed with her for a few weeks until she passed away. Fortunately I was allowed to stay in the house since my parents weren’t comfortable having me around.
Since my grandmother’s passing my anger started to return. More violent outbursts occurred and shortly i was tearing this house apart. After every outburst I couldn’t help but sit and wonder why I was doing these things..
My parents allowed me to return home not knowing what my state was like. Only a few days later and that’s when it happened… My mother and father were downstairs drinking, my mother never had any issues with being drunk. She would have to tank at least 2 bottles of wine herself before getting drunk. My father on the other hand never handled a drink too well. He was yelling jokes back and forth and once again, I snapped.
I walked downstairs into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. Burst my way through into the living room and made my way over to my father. He saw the enraged look on my face and tried to hold his hands out to calm me down. I raised my hand and held the knife up to his throat..
“I told you… to be quiet…”
With one swift motion the knife ran across his throat. My mother let out a blood curdling scream as my father collapsed to the ground gurgling on his own blood. A few seconds later and he stopped moving. I turned to my mother who had backed up into the corner and I slowly made my way over to her.
She stared into my eyes with terror.
“This isn’t you son… please…” She could only manage a whisper.
I plunged the knife into my mother’s chest over and over until she stopped screaming. I ran from the house into the pouring rain and ran for as long as I could manage. I found an abandoned house and made my way inside…
And thats where I’ve stayed. For 5 months. Something has a hold of me and I don’t know what. The things I did, that wasn’t me. My body moved on it’s own and all of that anger I felt just wasn’t my own. Whatever has a hold of me sometimes let’s go of its firm grip of my mind. Only leaving me to sit in fear and regret of my actions. My mother.. she saw the look in my eyes. She knew I never wanted to do those awful things and yet I couldn’t stop myself. It’s at these times when I’m free that I wish it would just take hold of me once more. Leaving me to sit in regret of my actions is the worst torture I’ve ever had to endure.
I can’t take back my actions. And I can’t prevent any further one’s. I just need people to know… its not my fault. All I ask is for forgiveness. This isn’t me. I would never hurt anyone. I’m sorry…