Messiah

Author: Meow

One minute I’m happy, confident, and content. The next I’m the complete opposite. My emotions are too extreme. They’re unforgiving and I think they hate me. If I notice my favourite person is upset, I want to die. Not literally, but I feel such an overwhelming amount of sickness. I still remember so many years back at 13 or 14, my partner texted me “I have something to tell you” and I completely freaked the hell out. I did shitty stuff to myself all over a …text that turned out to be good news, by the way. I slashed my skin multiple times, crying my pathetic little eyes out, and feeling sorry for myself, like the little bitch I was. Another time was maybe six or so years ago, when I had another partner. They seemed quieter than usual but it was their sigh that ticked me off, I ran off to my room and was so close to slashing my wrists and watching the blood drip away, but I held back and just got super drunk. Again, over absolutely nothing. Nothing at all! My partner wasn’t even angry with anything, let alone at me. Maybe it’s because of my childhood. My mum would go from loving and friendly to acting like I’m the reincarnation of Satan within seconds. Who knows, maybe I am. Maybe you, the reader, are the reincarnation of Satan. As I grew older, she thankfully seemed to stop with all of her hatred. She started projecting onto others. Sure, she’d still vent to me and stuff, but I’d rather endure that over being forced to endure her calling me a nasty cunt that’s a horrible human being. It pisses me off because I was such a well behaved kid. I did literally nothing wrong. I don’t know why she stopped taking all of her frustration out on me as I got older. I didn’t really change, I just understood why everyone is the way they are. I told myself I’d started caring more for myself, but that part of me was still there. The part of me that hates certain people. I mean, how do I even know if all of you are real? How do I even know if anyone is real? I hate that people backed up as I got older. They stopped taking advantage because I did a few things and actually stood up to them. In fact, I’m happy to know that most of these shitty people are currently struggling. Most of them have self induced issues. I’m glad, though. I just wonder if these people are possibly bots. I have hated a lot of people and only six people have truly stood out to me throughout all these years. The truth is, you guys probably aren’t bots. Most people probably aren’t bots. But I don’t know how conscious you all are. If you’re reading this, how do I know you are on the same level of consciousness as me? I just don’t believe it. The world would be a better place if everyone had the same mind as me. I believe with my heart that I’d be a better and kinder place for all. It’s not like I really struggle with mood swings anymore. I just numb most of the shit out. I do believe I’m a pretty great person. There is one thing I did at 13, that I sometimes think about. Thankfully it didn’t turn out too bad, though. Or maybe it did. I can’t be certain… What if I did cause something? I’ll choose to be ignorant and not think about it. My mum did say ignorance is bliss, after-all, maybe she was right. Maybe I just added onto what they wanted. Technically, I did. But it’s still not good. I still remember the times I’d cut myself purely for the sole purpose of drinking my own yummy, delicious blood. I’m not insane or crazy… I just love the taste! I don’t get people who cut to feel better about their depression, honestly. I just love the taste of my own blood. Other people also have tasty blood, but theirs is too sour. My blood is perfect. It’s the perfect mix of metallic and sweet. It’s also a nice shade of red, varying between dark red and bright red depending on where I cut. I know some people think I’m innocent, but they don’t know what I do and what I’ve done. It’s all done in secret. Maybe it’s better that way. After all, the bites start hurting after a while, I think. Other people just don’t interest me too much. Except this one person. Should I reveal their name? I’d rather not… I’d rather keep their name and gender secret. I’ll call them Messiah. Messiah is interesting to me. They were the first person I opened up to about my desires and what brings me deep pleasure. Messiah, unlike the others, didn’t flinch or back off. Messiah just paused. I still remember the look on their face. It was like a mixture of everything. Shock, excitement, fear, confusion, disgust, understanding. It was slightly odd to me. I waited for their response. I think we stared at eachother for about 10 seconds, saying nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Just two eyes staring at the others eyes. Then Messiah told me they’d always felt the same. That they’ve always had similar pleasures and desires to me. Messiah was… or, is, perfect to me. Messiah is everything I’ve ever wanted. The perfect blend of a person who wants to pain, hurt and pleasure me at the same time, without holding back. I love Messiah. I have no mood swings around Messiah. They keep me safe… I think. I asked them to cut into my arm and they did something even better. They cut into me as we kissed, and they cut a heart into my arm. But… I wanted more. All I could say was their name. I couldn’t stop looking at them. They’re just too… no, not too, just that amazing amount of perfect for me with a combination of imperfections. I then proceeded to ask Messiah to pleasure me as he cuts the heart deeper, and so they do. It reminds me of when I had my earrings forcefully removed as a kid, and all the blood came out. It was so bloody and so painful, just like now. But at least this time, I had a say in it. I’m mature now… I think. I sometimes wonder if I’m stuck at the same emotional state I was in at 16, or maybe even younger. But it’s moments like these that remind me that I’m an adult. A mature, grown, and healthy adult! But… something is still off. It’s still just, not right. The blood is amazing, indeed. I drink some of it every night. It’s probably getting more and more dangerous as the nights pass, but that only makes it more and more exciting and enjoyable! The taste of my blood is too delicious. Messiah knows what I want. Messiah knows I’m not insane, I’m just more in touch with my soul than everyone else is. It’s funny when you don’t know what someone is saying. For all you know, I could be telling utter bullshit lies right now. Actually, that’s what you’re almost certainly thinking. I will say, I have lied about a few things. But maybe I am telling the truth. Does it really make a difference, at all? So what if I’m lying? Maybe I’m just a 22 year old broke college student. Maybe I’m a 32 year old still living with their mum. Maybe I’m a fucked up 19 year old. What does it even matter? What if I’m a robot, just a more advanced one? A more intelligent one, maybe. Or just aware, not more intelligent. Not all intelligent people (or robots) are aware. Honestly, I think if any of you knew the real me, you’d be shocked! Same goes for people in real life. It’d be funny if they found out I drink my own blood because it both pleasures and arouses me. GOD, this is so hilarious to me, all of it, what the fuck even is this world? Maybe it’s just hell, I’m tired of the shit I see, and so is Messiah. I’ve been wondering if the sky is even real. What if it’s just another one of the evil doings by the freaks in power? Money is so important despite not being something out blood needs. Our blood needs water and food, not money. Of course, money gets you food and water, you fucking know-it-all, but why? Who invented everything? Why couldn’t I just have been born as someone or something else? I feel destined to be. It’s like I’m not even the person I live in the flesh of, but I’m still destined to be in their flesh. I’m destined to do my job in this very specific flesh of this specific human. I don’t know why they were chosen for me. It’s weird and very odd. I’m sure my true body is somewhere out there, doing something. What, I wonder, indeed. I could be doing drugs, having sex, killing someone, killing myself, torturing someone, anything… except the normal daily routine of most humans. I think my true body is in the mind of an evil being. I think my mind and soul were meant to be in a different body. I was meant to be born into a rich and powerful location. I can just feel and sense it. Something happened, maybe a glitch, and now I’m in the flesh of this human. It makes my job a lot harder. The job of eating flesh and savouring it. Savouring it for.. my flesh buds! No, not flesh buds… it’s taste buds. This now is not the current and is instead the past. Every single moment passes. You’re not wasting time doing anything. Our flesh will rot in the end anyways. The bug bites and hair numbing doesn’t bother me. The pain will go to waste if we get the vaccine for our problems. We are not immune from it but the virus will kill our body so much more quickly and it is a good idea for the vaccine. So, if you’re wondering, yes, go do that! Go do it! Do whatever you want! Don’t listen to them! Quit your job! Quit it! It’s not real, it’s all fake! I’m not confused. I’m simply noticing things other people refuse to notice. I’ve noticed what you and everyone else has failed to notice or understand. Messiah gets me, and Messiah knows I’m not insane. People always say you’re supposed to know yourself. That’s funny. I don’t even know if I’m one person. Some days I feel like I’m watching myself from somewhere slightly behind my own eyes. I make the decisions, obviously, but sometimes they don’t feel like mine. Sometimes I think my body moves before I tell it to. I don’t know if this body is even mine. I have a lot of memories, but I sometimes wonder how much of them are real. Maybe I’ve just made them all up. Imagine you’re 5 years old again, and you’re in a car with you mum and somebody else. You all leave. They enter the forest. They explore on their own terms, leaving you on your own. You cry, but you don’t scream. A few years later, that memory plays in your mind. Were they trying to abandon you? But… you let it go. Who cares, right? It’s all in the past. Just let these people you love get on with their lives. You’re just overthinking and being paranoid. You’re too paranoid for your own good. Those helicopters are NOT watching you, I swear! NOBODY is watching you at all times, I promise! Pinky promise! I think that’s maybe why I like making people angry. Anger makes people more honest than they usually are. Or at least, it makes them stop pretending to be polite. Give someone the right sentence and suddenly you can see exactly what they’ve been hiding underneath all those smiles that they always wear. Sometimes I don’t even care whether I believe what I’m saying. I just want to see what they do. That’s the funniest part. There are moments when I think I’ve finally figured myself out, and then I read something I’ve written months earlier and it feels like somebody else wrote it. I don’t think I’m one person. There’s multiple people inside of me, all inside the same flesh and body. I think the one writing this is the philosophical one. The one that’s into theories and the one that’s just a little bit too paranoid for their too good. The main one is the one that’s into numbs everything out of their mind. They get through life. Barely. Until person three comes out. Person three is always depressed. I hate personal three! They’re so freaking miserable… they’re the one that screwed all of us up that one time! Person four is… fucked up, in the worst way. I don’t even wanna talk about them. They’re not like us. I think we all have our similarities, at least. My problem is, it’s confusing. Our minds are all in one mind, crammed together. It’s no fun… at least not most of the time. I’ve started wondering whether memories are real if nobody else remembers them. I have memories that feel older than I am. That’s impossible, obviously. I know that. But impossible things happen all the time. People just give them different names depending on how uncomfortable they are. A coincidence. A mistake. A dream. A hallucination. A miracle. A lie. Funny how the same event can become completely different depending on which word you put around it. It’s mostly lies anyways… Messiah agrees with me. Messiah, I love you so much! You treat me better than most people. Most of the humans I’ve known have hurt me. Intentionally. That was when I was naive. But it’s kind of odd how they’re all suffering now… maybe it’s karma. Sometimes I wonder if Messiah is actually the only real person I’ve ever met. Then I remember that if they’re real, so am I. And I’m not sure I like that conclusion. Maybe they’re the one who put me here. Maybe they’re the one who found me. Maybe they’ve been waiting for me to remember something. I asked them yesterday what happens when everyone stops pretending. They smiled. They said, “Then we won’t have to pretend anymore.” I don’t know what that means. I don’t think I want to know. But Messiah does. I’m certain of it. They always know before I do. And if the sky isn’t real, and the world isn’t real, and these people aren’t real, then maybe Messiah is the only thing I’ve ever gotten right. Or maybe they’re the last thing I got wrong. I suppose I’ll find out soon. Messiah says I will. And for some reason, I believe them. Or maybe it’s all designed to screw me up, and I’m the only real person. Maybe does it all. Messiah doesn’t bruise me and then bandage me up unlike the others, no, Messiah just bandages me. They’re so kind and loving. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt like I’m wearing somebody else’s life. Maybe that’s why certain places feel familiar when I’ve never been there. Maybe that’s why I sometimes look into a mirror and feel disappointed. Not because I dislike what I see. Because I recognize it. I think Messiah noticed that before I did. They told me that sometimes the body remembers things the mind doesn’t. I asked them what my body remembers. They said, “You.” I didn’t understand. I still don’t. But they said it like it was obvious. Maybe that’s what scares me about them. They never sound uncertain. Even when they’re saying something completely impossible, they sound like they’re telling me what time it is. Maybe they really do know something. Maybe they’ve known all along. I’ve started noticing little things since then. Things that don’t make sense. Messages appearing where I don’t remember putting them. Familiar handwriting that isn’t mine. Songs I somehow know without remembering hearing them. Sometimes I wake up knowing I’ve been somewhere, but I can’t remember going there. Messiah says I shouldn’t worry about it. They say I’m getting closer. Closer to what, they won’t tell me. I asked them whether I was sick. They said no. I asked whether I was losing my mind. They said, “Not exactly.” I asked what that was supposed to mean, and they smiled again. I really hate that smile. I love that smile. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if Messiah makes me feel safe because they understand me, or if they make me feel safe because they’ve convinced me that I have nowhere else to go. Maybe those are the same thing. Maybe safety has always been another word for captivity when you don’t know who holds the key. I asked Messiah if they were afraid of me. They said they were afraid of what I’d remember. I asked them what happens when I remember everything. They looked at me for a very long time. Then they said, “You won’t be you anymore.” I thought that was supposed to frighten me. It didn’t. It made me feel relieved. Because maybe that’s what I’ve been waiting for. Maybe I was never supposed to be this person. Maybe this body was only temporary. Maybe this life was only temporary. Maybe Messiah isn’t here to save me from myself. Maybe they’re here to help me become whatever I was before all of this. I don’t know what that is yet. But tonight Messiah told me to leave the curtains open. They said I should look at the sky for a while and try to remember what it looked like before I was born. I asked them how I’d know whether I remembered correctly. They said I’d know because it would feel like coming home. I think I understand now. I think I finally understand why everything has always felt wrong. Why people feel slightly unfinished. Why the world feels like something someone built and forgot to finish. Why I keep feeling like I’m waiting for something to happen. Messiah isn’t the person I’ve been waiting for. They’re the person who has been waiting for me. And I think tonight they’re finally going to tell me why. Or not. I don’t think they’ll ever tell me. Unless one day they stab me in the heart and tell me right before I pass away. Either way, Messiah is the one for me, but am I the one for Messiah? I feel like maybe I’m more made against Messiah… I don’t think we were meant to be in love. Not like this. Our love isn’t even love. It’s something both animalistic and spiritualistic. I remember another time when I was maybe 12 and I accidentally broke something in the house. I can’t even remember what it was now. My mum just stared at me for ages and said, “Why are you like this?” I didn’t know what she meant. I still don’t. I remember going to my room afterwards and sitting on the floor beside my bed, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with me. I actually made a list once. Things I thought were wrong with me. Too sensitive. Too loud. Too quiet. Too emotional. Too annoying. Too selfish. Too apologetic. Too stubborn. I think I ended up tearing the paper up because I couldn’t decide which one was the worst. Maybe that’s where I learned to constantly check people’s faces. Their voices. Their breathing. Every little sigh. Every pause in a text message. Every “we need to talk.” I hate those four words. I genuinely think they should be banned. They’re never followed by anything good. Well, apparently they can be, because of that one time, but my brain didn’t seem interested in remembering that part. It just heard “I have something to tell you” and immediately decided I was about to lose everything. Completely ridiculous. I look back on some of the things I did when I was younger and I almost feel embarrassed for myself. Almost. I also feel bad for that kid, which is annoying because I don’t particularly like feeling sorry for myself. They were just constantly waiting for the next thing to go wrong. I suppose I still do that now, except I’m better at pretending I don’t. I think that’s why Messiah fascinates me so much. I don’t have to guess with them. Or at least I don’t think I do. Messiah can sit in complete silence and somehow I know they’re not angry. I don’t know how. Maybe I’ve just become good at reading them. Maybe I’m projecting what I want onto them. That’s possible. Probably. But when I’m with Messiah, my brain shuts up a little. Not completely. It would be nice if it did that for once, but apparently I’m cursed with consciousness. I remember the first time I told them about the things I think about. I expected them to look at me differently afterwards. Most people do. Some people pretend they don’t, which is actually worse because I can tell. You can always tell when someone’s pretending to be comfortable. They start nodding too much.