Mise à jour il y a 23w · L'auteur dispose de réponses 229 et de vues de réponses 1.1m
I killed someone. I had known him since I was 18 and he was my best friend but he went mad. Everyone had given up on him but I tried to get him to come back from this path of self destruction and insanity. We'd always had a special strange relationship that we kept between ourselves and understood one another on a level that has never been reached again. But I couldn't reach him. He was so determined to fail and drag anyone down into his hell with him so I finally said no more. He may have given up and is ok with dying but I wasn't. He didn't like this. He reminded me of a summer night over a decade before when I was mad at him and was leaving because he was so high, he was pulling weeds at midnight by the light of a lighter. He chased me down and asked me if I'd ever give up on him and he looked so crazy and the teenager I knew so long ago was shining thru. He was up to something and I loved him for it. No matter who we ended up with, how many kids we had, how rich or poor we became, we'd NEVER GIVE UP ON EACHOTHER.
I wanted to scream. So I did…. In his face. “Wtf do you mean? I have been there for you thru all your downfall, you irresponsible selfish shit! You've cost me relationships, friendships and thousands upon thousands of dollars and all I've ever asked is for you not to do heroin! It's ruined you! You aren't you! I hate you! I cant keep watching you kill yourself and hurt everyone that cares for you!!!!”
He assessed me. I could see the wheels turning. He was very smart and so charming. And god was he funny. Effortlessly funny. But that night I wasn't having it. The decades of absolute nonsense had caught up with me. He wanted me to hold his hand. I wasn't going to. He'd never hurt me before, why should I fear him? Then all of a sudden he was on me. Beating me, choking me, really trying to hurt me. I couldn't escape. I was terrified. I made him think I wasn't mad and that I wasn't going to tell police. I just wanted to get away from him. Finally I got my chance and I got away but a few days later he found me at a 7–11 and grabbed me by my hair and dragged me in his car. He punched me over and over until I was quiet and compliant. He dared me to try and escape and he'd run me over. He took me to the desert and pulled out a gun. He said he was going to kill me and himself and everyone would know it's because I was such a cunt. I told him I loved him and that I didn't care what happened to me, just so long as he promised not to hurt himself. I told him I'd shoot myself so they thought it was a suicide and he didn't get in trouble. I hoped it'd work and it did. He gave me a hug and said he was sorry and he just needed me to fix him. I agreed and then we got in the car and were driving back in town when we came to a stoplight, I saw a police car so I got out and I ran. They didn't see me and turned the corner just as I felt something hit my head and all went dark.
I woke up in a hotel room. I wasn't sure where I was but I heard his voice.
“"I was starting to worry about you. You knocked out really easy baby.” He's smoking heroin on a couch. “"Go take a shower and wipe all the blood off you. Leave your clothes here.”
I start to cry and he flips out. He comes over and slams me on the bed and bites me and hits me and says to be quiet. No more stunts. I'm not getting him caught. I can't escape and to go get in the shower before he makes a mess out here.
I get naked and go in the shower. Everything hurts. I'm really messed up. I have hair missing, bruises all over, swelling, lumps on my head, bite marks, cuts, blood coming from my nose and ear… he walks in and tells me I look like shit and why do I make him do this shit. This is what I have always wanted. He never hurt me and I wasn't satisfied with that. So now he was going to hurt me more than anyone before. I belonged to him he said. He took the towels out and said to air dry and come into the bedroom.
Right by the bathroom door was the door. I had no clothes and no towels so I'd have to run naked. I was pretty sure he was going to kill me or hurt me so I went for it. I sprinted out the door and he grabbed me by my hair but I pulled so hard it ripped free and he screamed and ran the other direction. I didn't look back. I ran till I found people and they gave me a blanket and called the police. The police came and I told them what happened and they got the hotel to give me a room by the office so I'd be safe and could rest and they could possibly catch him if he tried to return to the other room. I didn't have a cell since he'd broken it but I had the hotel room phone and they said security would be in the hall on the lookout. They told me to contact them if I heard anything, but to try to rest. They didn’t want me to go to my empty house in the suburbs and I needed to go there first to get my spare key since I had no clue where my keys were, and hoped the car hadn’t been towed.
The hotel gave me the nicest suite they had that was above the lobby overlooking the pool with a big balcony. I walked around and went out on the balcony to see if I could see him in the giant courtyard or pool area. The hotel was a 2 story circle, surrounding a courtyard and pool. There was probably 10 buildings connected by little walkways that had security gates you needed a key to open from the parking lot. I went to take a bath and calm down. I'm lying in the bath and I swear I hear the balcony door. No way. I'm on the second floor and the place is crawling with cops and security. All of a sudden he's standing over me. Terror doesn't describe the feeling I felt. ( I later found out, that he had been on the roof the whole time watching all of us and had seen me come out on the balcony, so he had walked across the roofs and jumped down on my balcony from the roof)
He doesn't do anything, just stares at me. For the first time ever, I can't read him. Finally he says he wants to hold my hand. I oblige and he is happy. He asks why I couldn't just do this in the first place and avoided all this. I get out of the tub and he still has my hand. I painfully dry off and he helps since I only have one hand now. I’m nervous he’s going to try something sexual because our friendship was platonic and I was married, but he didn’t go there. It’s like he didn’t notice I was nude. Then we lie down as if nothing happens and just before he falls asleep, he tells me that he loves me like no one he's ever loved and he'll see me dead before he'll let me go ever. He traps me in his arms and I'm just too tired to fight anymore. I fall asleep. I wake up and am free from his arms and I escape as he sleeps. I call the police and tell them he's in there but by the time they arrive, the room is empty. I return home. Silence for a while and then he goes crazy calling and texting and I want nothing to do with him. I tell him repeatedly I'm done.
He comes to my home, I call police and he evades them AGAIN!!! I can't believe it. He was driving a 10 year old trailblazer and they were in brand new souped up explorers.
A few days later I come home from taking my kids to school and he's in my house. I am so mad. I tell him to leave me alone. Leave my house. He starts smashing and throwing things. I tell him fine I'll leave. He tells me go ahead but wait till I return. Everything will be broken and burned. To illustrate this fact he throws something' down the hall that smashes and knocks down a picture. I tell him that's it I'm calling cops. He grabs my phone and throws it. I grab his phone and call but he's after me. I run into the guest room but he thinks I’ve gone in my room. When he goes in my room looking for me, I run past my rooms door, to the living room where the shotgun is hidden. I grab my shotgun as he comes out of my room. He tells me that if I point it at him, he's gonna beat me to death with it. I point it at him and tell him just to leave. He runs at me and says “"I'm going to shoot you with your own gun.”
I pull the trigger. It blows a hole in his shoulder. He screams and starts running about. I call 911 and tell them I need an ambulance. I shot someone: they tell me to put the gun in the gun safe and stay away from him. I go back in the room he's in and he's growling on the floor in a pool of blood. So much blood. There's a knock and the police are there. He's still alive when they leave in the ambulance but he dies a few minutes later.
They question me at the station and decide it's most likely self defense considering the evidence and history. They drop me off at my blood soaked house that's been ripped apart by investigators. I stand there staring at the scene. Kinda in shock. I am mad my kids are in CPS custody right now. I am mad at him for turning into such a problem, I'm mad at me for failing to fix him, I'm mad at his friends and family for turning their backs on him and leaving me as his only friend. I'm mad at his ex for being a wishy washy weirdo wack job. I'm mad at the police for making an even bigger mess, and having my dogs taken to the pound. I’m just mad. I’m mad at my family. I'm pissed. I'm mad I don't have a phone. I'm mad that the iPad is dead… then I have to download an app and call biohazard. They are there in minutes and after signing papers, I go upstairs to my bed and pass out as they start to clean. I wake up the following morning, walk downstairs and everything in the living room, entry way, stairs and foyer are gone. Flipping everything. They even cut the wall away that had blood on it and ripped out all carpet.
Guess what? I'm not mad anymore. I saw a therapist and read a lot and have talked to people that looked at it as positive and those that thought it was negative and they all helped. I really wish I'd have saved him. I wish he hadn't turned into this monster I didn't know. He truly was my best friend for so long…. But then he wasn't. I have little boys that need me. I couldn't die and he just didn't want to live anymore.
Tommy Winfrey, Entrepreneur en herbe
Mise à jour il y a 301w · L'auteur dispose de réponses 66 et de vues de réponses 1.1m
Without a doubt this is probably the most personal question I think I could ever answer. This is a question I have been asking myself for a very long time now, and just coming to grips with the answers I have found. To say my answer is complex, and that I am going to have difficulties expressing exactly how I have felt, and still feel about murdering someone, is an understatement.
I guess the beginning would be the best place to start. When I took another man’s life I was just nineteen years old. Looking back now, I can honestly say I felt immense peer pressure to go through with the murder. I felt like I would be seen as a weak punk if I let another man get over on me. I was a drug dealer, and I felt I had a reputation to uphold. I can see all this now, but at the time I could see none of this. I realize now I was in a very bad place in life. I was in the midst of a serious drug addiction. I felt worthless and unworthy of love, so in return I placed little value on my life or on the life of anyone else. All of these feelings made me feel so powerless in life, I lashed out.
My lashing out cost another human his life. I am ashamed to admit it, but at the time I felt a great weight was lifted off my shoulders when I pulled the trigger. I felt like I had finally stood up for myself. I was completely irrational. I realize now it is like my friend David Monroe always says, “hurt people, hurt people.” I was really hurting and I didn’t know how to ask for help.
I continued to justify my actions for a long time, but somewhere deep inside I have always known that there was never any justice in taking someone’s life. Admitting to myself I was feeling scared, lonely, unworthy of love and respect was just too hard. Also, by admitting these feelings, I would also have to come to grips with what I really did, and how I affected the world. This was a hard prospect for me, but I am finally there over fifteen years later.
Now I feel sadness over murdering someone. I feel I have robbed my victim’s family of the most precious thing in life. I feel immense sorrow for this. I feel I have robbed my family out of truly ever knowing me. I feel like I have created fear in my community. I feel that I have done the world a great disservice, and that I owe a debt that I can never fully repay. I am full of guilt and shame over my actions. I never want anyone else to feel the way I do.
All communications between inmates and external channels are facilitated by approved volunteers since inmates do not have access to the internet. This program with Quora is part of The Last Mile San Quentin. Twitter: @TLM
Dave Reynolds, I experience. I feel. I write.
Répondu il y a 312w · L'auteur dispose de réponses 415 et de vues de réponses 920.7k
I didn't murder someone but I did kill someone in a car accident.
My wife and I were driving home from dinner on a dark winter evening. We were on a four lane road and were close behind another car. As we passed through an intersection, a body suddenly hit the car and landed on my windshield. My wife yelled and it took me a couple seconds to grasp what had happened.
When I realized that we had hit a human, my first impulse was to flee. I still don't know exactly why I chose not to run but it was a decision I made quickly.
I stopped the car and immediately called 911. I informed the operator that someone had run in front of my car. When she asked me how the person was, I told her I couldn't find them. I started walking back toward the intersection and found a 17 year old boy, Josh, laying along the curb of the road.
There are some other details about this story that are pretty remarkable but I'll stick to the question asked.
I knew I had no fault in the accident. I hadn't been speeding and hadn't been drinking. Josh was badly injured but he was still alive so I was dealing more with the shock of the accident than with any feeling with being involved in the death of another person. Having no fault was the single most important emotional moderator for the experience. If I had been even slightly responsible, it would have been more of a guilt-ridden experience.
The first couple days after the accident, I kept having flashbacks and each time, I was filled with a pervasive sense of dread. The dread was insanely visceral and of course, emotionally demanding. The bodily experience of the dread overwhelmed me with waves of sensation that would last for 20 or 30 seconds, fade for a bit and then wash over me again. I could never tell when they would come again. One moment I'd be fine and then suddenly, the dread would overcome me.
Josh died of his injuries about six weeks later. We had been in touch with his family and church, so we knew about his condition pretty much constantly.
Since I knew it was coming, I was pretty prepared. I had sorted out most of the the emotions and facts (by this time the police department had concluded Josh was entirely at fault).
Frankly, my first reaction when hearing of his death was relief. I had been living with this for six weeks and the relief from the tension was welcome. I had worked through a bit of sadness and I felt the gravity of having been involved in another person's death but relief was mostly what I felt then.
I also felt a lot of anger toward Josh and that's where I felt guilty. I was angry that his foolishness had so deeply affected my life. It inconvenienced me because I couldn't get my car back to repair it because the police held on to it for the investigation. I still had to make payments on it while I couldn't use it. I still had occasional flashbacks. I had all these angry thoughts and then I felt guilty because it seemed petty and selfish to be mad about these things toward a kid who lost his life foolishly yet innocently.
I use dark humor to deal with difficult issues and my joke was that I don't mind the dynamics of natural selection but I didn't appreciate being so directly involved in the process for Josh. Funny ha-ha but there was a lot of truth to it. It took me a while to get past the resentment I felt toward Josh.
As has been written elsewhere here, there is the guilt dynamic. I had enough guilt for feeling selfish; not sure how I would have handled it if i had actually had some responsibility in his death.
Kiani Francis, College Tutor at London Borough of Haringey
Répondu il y a 142w · L'auteur dispose de réponses 690 et de vues de réponses 906.2k
I have no direct personal experience but I had a social work client who had been a member of an Algerian government death squad. He said he had bayonetted women & children with "Kalashnikov knife". From what he said to me, it seems that the squad were deliberately addicted to benzodiazepines - which assisted the carrying out of atrocities as well as controlling them by threat of withdrawal. Eventually he refused to do it any more and was extensively tortured for his refusal - principally by high pressure water jets. This rendered him such a mental wreck that he was discharged. Then the Islamist guerillas (GIA) attacked him on his doorstep and stabbed him in the heart - which he survived & fled to England from hospital. He woke up screaming every night and experienced PTSD symptoms - depression, recurrent nightmares & flashbacks.
It seems that historically many British hangmen drank heavily - infamously Jack Ketch, which made them botch executions.( Ketch took between 6 & 8 blows to kill the Duke of Monmouth). The man who invented the "long drop", William Marwood, upon retirement campaigned against the death penalty, drank heavily and was convicted of attempted suicide but let off with a caution. his subsequent attempt was successful.
David Monroe, Aspiring entrepreneur
Répondu il y a 308w · L'auteur dispose de réponses 60 et de vues de réponses 450.3k
This is a really hard question to answer because of the complexity and raw truth. Not many people are willing to accept the hard truth, while not many people are willing to tell it either. Here we go…
People murder people for different reasons which makes things complex, but the nerve to actually commit this act is where the raw truth comes into play. The truth is that people murder other people because they are hurt inside and are struggling to deal with their emotions maturely. The term “hurt people hurt people” is not a new concept. However, I only learned of this term five or six years ago. I spent the first 10 years of my incarceration trying to fully understand what led me to take another person's life. I was only 15 years old at the time of the murder, I just couldn’t wrap my head around it nor identify the emotions behind it. I would tell people that I murdered him because of peer pressure and that he disrespected me and he was a threat to me because he was from a rival gang. But after hearing this term and understanding its meaning the light came on. I was hurt.
Since I can remember, I watched my father abuse alcohol and then my mother. Then I watched him choose alcohol over my family and abandon us. Then I watched my step-father abuse drugs, and then my mother, and then us. Then I watched my older sister go in and out of the juvenile hall and CYA before seeing my older brother get life in prison for murder. Then a drunk driver killed my little brother and I have since been haunted by the image of his eight year old body laying under an 18-wheel diesel with his head split open and his brains lying on the street. I was only ten years old by this time. I couldn’t turn to anyone to grieve because they were all grieving themselves.
I did what most people do and bottled everything up and buried it deep down inside over the next five years of my life, I struggled with keeping those emotions bottled up while dealing with depression, insecurities, and feeling abandoned and unloved. I am ashamed to say this but every act of violence was a release for me. Through violence, I was able to relieve myself of pain by inflicting it onto others. Sad but very true. Murdering someone was the ultimate release for me. There was a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. I remember experiencing so many different emotions as I ran home that by the time I got inside the house, I immediately fell asleep.
This is the truth about what it feels like to murder someone. It is the ultimate way to deal with your problems irresponsibly. It creates more problems and hurts a lot more people in the process. Not only am I still left with the depression, insecurities, and abandonment issues, I now have to deal with the shame, guilt, and judgments of murdering an innocent person. I do not have an excuse to lean on. He had done nothing to me to warrant my violent actions. I only have myself to blame for not dealing with my emotions and problems in a responsible and mature manner.
This has forever pitted my heart with regret and covered it in shame. If I could only push the reset button and start all over, I would do things differently. If I could only return his life and forfeit my own, I would. Unfortunately, I cannot. I can only learn from it and channel my remorse toward helping others from making the same bad choices in life. My work with mentoring youth has yielded much success, but it is not a release of guilt because I have saved a kid’s life, it is an appreciation for the life of Mr. Garcia. His death has not only propelled me to change my life, but has inspired me to unselfishly open up to kids and change theirs. Trust me, it is not just me talking to those kids....it is him too.
All communications between inmates and external channels are facilitated by approved volunteers since inmates do not have access to the internet. This program with Quora is part of The Last Mile San Quentin. Twitter: @TLM
Répondu il y a 22w
When I was 12, I had an African grey named “General Birdy McArthur” that I got on my 5th birthday, and my best friend Andrew decided to put him in a microwave while I was in the bathroom. When I came back and saw my bird dead, I dropped to the floor and started crying uncontrollably. I loved the bird more than my own life.
In my rage, I took the cutting board and struck my friend, he took off running, I picked up a wooden hammer my mom used to flatten the meat for schnitzels and chased him. I struck him again, he fell, I kept hitting him, and my rage was such that I took the wires from the dish network box and tied his hands and went to the garage grabbed the gasoline my parents kept for the mower and came back and doused my friend, took a match and lit him on fire.
He didn’t die initially from the fire so I added more fuel and lit him on fire again.
I took my dead bird and turned myself in to the police.
At first the police at the station took my confession as a joke, and didn’t believe me. Finally an officer agreed to ride down to my house with me to see what I had done.
When they saw my friends body. I heard the officer yell “Cuff him, he wasn’t lying”. They quickly put me in handcuffs and put me in the back of the cruiser. As I heard more and more sirens and complete chaos happening at my house as I watched in the back seat of the cruiser.
Finally my mom arrived and she was crying and devasted.
After what seemed like an eternity, I was driven to juvenile hall and booked. My first night in juvenile hall I felt nothing.
At the detention hearing the mom of my friend was in attendance and finally I started feeling something, but it wasn’t remorse, it was anger that I was in juvenile hall and her son had tortured and killed my bird, and yet she was telling the judge how I was a “monster”..
Anyway, I reached a plea deal with prosecutors and was sentenced to the California Youth Authority until my 25th birthday (all CYA sentences are indefinite terms).
I was paroled 39 months in to my sentence (I was 15 by now) and I never returned to jail since. I am still on parole. (I am 16 now) .
I had to fake remorse at the parole hearing, and luckily for me the parole board was loaded with idiots that believed every bs line I fed them.
My mom cremated my bird and put his ashes in a necklace pendant she gave me.
I still don’t regret killing my friend, and I think I did the world a favor, anyone that can microwave a bird to death, was on his way to becoming a psy
Jarod Smith, works at Best Western
Mise à jour il y a 25w
I’d imagine it depends on the person and what caused them to want to commit murder. For the typical person, they feel remorse and punish themselves/think about their actions for the rest of their lives. It haunts them. Whether they killed someone in combat in a warzone; or they just straight-up murdered someone for personal reasons.
But there are many people out there with many different mental illness and personality disorders that would change this. Sociopaths/psychopaths, for example, wouldn’t feel any remorse. To them, taking a human life would be no different than stepping on an ant. It means nothing to them. And for some, as we see in the cases of serial killers, they actually enjoy it. They like the feeling. Some real life serial killers have described it as a sort of addiction. They become addicted to it, and they eventually go out, target someone, and kill someone again when they feel the intense craving - just like a drug addict whose intense cravings cause them to relapse and get high. And then as soon as they kill and get it out of their system, they feel more at peace and relaxed. Their bloodlust is temporarily satisfied.
It seems that mass murderers, on the other hand, might feel remorse. Most wind up killing themselves at the end of their rampage, so we will never be able to ask them how they felt just before killing themselves, but some instances seem to suggest that they more than likely felt remorse or disturbed by all the death and chaos they just caused.
The two Columbine shooters for example, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, even though they were hooting, cheering, laughing, mocking people before killing them, and seemed to have a genuinely good time when their rampage began, they eventually stopped killing and began aimlessly wandering around the school and didn’t kill anymore. They were just shooting up and tossing pipebombs in the empty halls, lockers, empty classrooms, etc. In this period of time, they looked in classrooms and actually made eye contact with people hiding in the rooms, but didn’t enter to kill them. People hiding in a bathroom, the two said to them, “We know you’re in there!!!” But they didn’t go in and kill the people in the bathroom. They even let two students go. Actually told them to get out of there and run. For example, one such kid who knew Dylan from classes and was always friendly with him asked him, “Are you going to kill me?”
Dylan responded, “No, man. Just get outta here. Run!”
From survivor accounts, they just wandered around, seemingly in a stunned trance, and ceased killing when they could have killed MANY more. Then they eventually wandered back to the library and ended their own lives after a brief engagement with the police surrounding the building, firing at the police from the library windows, but the boys fired with no real accuracy when engaging the police - seemingly shooting more to harass or intimidate. They couldn’t hit police officers hunkered down behind police cars from that distance, with the shotguns and 9mm weapons they wielded and the practically no training or experience they had with marksmanship and firearm handling, and they both were smart enough to know it despite being teenage nutjobs.
Anyways, most believe that all of this suggests that once the two shooters racked up some kills and “got it out of their system”, the reality and weight of what they did caught up to them and they actually felt disturbed or remorseful. Nobody can really think of any other rational reason why they would suddenly stop killing people and just wandered the school aimlessly, intentionally NOT shooting people, before shooting themselves.
I’d imagine that someone with a lot of pent up anger, rage, bitterness, or desire for vengeance would actually feel GOOD to kill or hurt people. But I’m sure they’d wind up eventually feeling remorseful or foolish (unless they’re a sociopath/psychopath or have some sort of mental illness, like schizophrenia, that prevents them from comprehending the consequences of their actions).
Répondu il y a 47w
It was a May 2004 night in Chennai,Tamil Nadu.I took out the venom that I got from a friend in Coimbatore,Tamil Nadu. It took me another fifteen minutes to fill the venom in the tranquilizer gun.I used to live near Egmore at that time. Mr. X worked at Ambattur Industrial area and would return every night at 10:30 p.m. I was shaking with fear inside that night but I had already made up my mind that I would kill him. Mr.X cheated on my sister,took all her Jewelry and then left her. My sister committed suicide at our home. He was put in Jail for a week and then came out because of the influence of a prominent MLA of that area. I desired justice. I put my stun gun and the tranquilizer gun in my bag. Wore a long black jacket and black helmet changed the number plate of my bike and scooted off towards h