To Those Who Would Hate Something Evil

Hating something evil is like loving something good; the passion only makes the object stronger.

One of my favorite songs that I listened to often when I lived in Fargo, North Dakota, was "Down with The Sickness" by a group called Disturbed. The chorus goes something like this:

"Get up, come on get down with the sickness! Get up, come on get down with the sickness! Get up, come on get down with the sickness! Open up your hate and let it flow into me!"

This song was so close to the truth of the "sickness" that I kept hidden from even my closest friends that I kept it heavily encrypted on my computer and only listened to it in complete privacy for fear that if anyone ever found it in my possession it would point them directly to the "dungeon" where my sickness lay hidden. (To this day the FBI has been unable to crack this encryption code, though they testified in court that they dedicated an entire room full of computers for over a month trying. I laughed when I heard that, because if they had just asked I would have told them that the key was 248 bits, and the algorythm PGP (a program so tough to crack that the NSA tried to get it outlawed). A little math would have then told them that a billion of the most powerful computers in the world couldn't crack the encryption if they tried for the lifetime of a trillion universes like ours. I guess they had to try to make themselves feel better. But, like I said then, it will take a quantum computer to crack the encryption, and my hope is that by the time we have the tech to do that we might also have the wisdom to learn from what those encrypted files contain, instead of using them to propagate the "sickness" that made them in the first place.)

"Open up your hate and let it flow into me!"

The "sickness" (i.e. evil) feeds on hate. I did the horrific things I did specifically to make people hate me. I needed them to hate me in order to feel vindicated, and justified, for what "they" did to me.

I once lay hidden in some bushes down the street from a house that I had just invaded moments before with every intention of raping and killing the children who lived there. But just as I was about to kill the one adult (the mother) who stood between me and my hate feast, the father came in through the front door and I ran out the back then up the street and then panting heavily into these bushes to catch my breath.

My car and my escape was only a few yards away, but I needed to make sure nobody saw me get in and drive away. So I waited.

And while I waited I heard the man scream from the other end of the block. I can only imagine, by the time it took for this scream to happen, that when the man entered his home and found his wife bound hand and foot in the living room, and children (one already naked from the waist down) awaiting my pleasure in the master bedroom, that he probably grabbed a gun (most likely) or some other weapon and run out in the back yard (the direction his wife no doubt told him I had gone) to hunt me down.

But, a quick search turned up no clues of where I was or even which way I had gone (I was long gone, as they say, by the time he even realized what was happening). And that's when the reality of what had just happened finally sunk in, and the hate and rage instantly boiled up to the surface and he screamed.

The scream was nothing coherent. It was a purely primal scream of rage and frustration. It was a scream of powerlessness and helplessness. All that hate had to come out somehow, and it came out in that scream, which he knew, I'm sure, that I would hear. If he couldn't pour his hatred into me directly, then he'd do it indirectly with his yell.

I drank it up. As soon as I heard it I smiled. It told me everything I wanted to know (i.e. that the coast was indeed "clear") and gave me exactly what I needed, his hate!

I remember thinking, "Yeah, motherfucker, now you know how it feels!"

I was spreading the "sickness" by doing the "evil" things I did. I was given "them" (the faceless members of the society that infected me with their hatred) a taste of their own medicine. And that scream was better than sweet buttermilk ass waiting to be violated.

That was then. But on the mountain with Shasta I had an epiphany that made me no longer desire such "justice" or "revenge". I no longer saw that man, or his children, or society, as my victims. Suddenly I realized in the deepest sense, that "they" were ME!

I was only hurting myself. I was only hating myself. I was only projecting my pain and hate, and confusion, and "sickness" onto them. But it all came from inside of me. I was the only one who could stop my suffering, my fear, and my confusion. And the only way to stop it was to stop projecting it onto others. If I wanted peace, I had to learn to embrace the hate, pain and fear as my own; my choice, not theirs.

Now, if only "they" could somehow come to this same realization; then, only then, there might be real peace for everyone, especially our children.

(J.D. 5-16-2014)