To the boy in the picture,This morning, for possibly the first time ever, I looked into your eyes.
What I saw there ripped off a giant scab and left my soul bleeding a river of pain. It shocked, saddened and angered me.
Relax, don't be afraid!
This time, I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at all the people who had looked into those eyes before me and saw nothing wrong. I am furious at the the people who saw the hurt in your eyes and turned their backs, deciding that it would be too much effort to determine the cause of your suffering and do something about it.
The fucking clerk in the fucking corner store!!
But no one saw.
No one ever asked.
No one gave a shit.
Looking into your eyes, my soul remembers your pain. It is a raw ache that have been buried, numbed with drugs and denied for the sake of survival for so long that I had forgotten its intensity. Now, the memory of it overpowers my senses. My heart can feel nothing other than your overwhelming loneliness. My eyes can't focus and your deafening scream of agony drowns out every other sound.
The scream that has been silenced for too long. The scream you had carved into your body because you could no longer keep it inside.
I feel only your terror.
I can't breathe.
Scream, young ---! Scream until you cannot scream any more!! Perhaps it will finally bring relief.
Today, I cried a tiny portion of the tears you never got to cry. I felt a tiny portion of the hurt you could never admit to feeling. I understood for the first time in many years how you could attack a man who had a gun, with only a knife. It wasn't courage, stupidity or desperation. I remember how you had hoped that the bullet would penetrate deep into your brain and shatter the horrors that represented the only life you had ever known.
It was a suicide attempt as much as it was murder.
Suicide by psychopath...
Where did the instinct that saved you come from?