Ted Bundy Wannabe

I can’t get her eyes out of my head. The look, as she winced and fake smiled, unknowingly to me apologetically. It’s like she was trying to warn me about the life she created. After all, sociopaths are made not born. In that moment I thought nothing of it as her son introduced us, convincing me he was close with his family. Yet another beautiful lie that sociopaths tell their victims.

Now about him. He was the most charismatic person I have ever met. Charming. He won me over with his words and his personality as he dropped me sweet love letters filled with words any person would want to hear. His grin went on for miles and his eyes lit up, the fire ignited by lies he spun like cotton candy, and it was sweet. I wanted to stay in the lie he created even after I discovered what he was. An empty shell of a person feeding off of sad emotions by ruining the lives of girls for a story and a quick thrill to cure his boredom. A wolf never grinned so cunningly or beautifully.

See I always has a fascination of dating a serial killer. And I know where it stemmed from. The bottom layer of my empty shell. When I was manipulated and then raped by someone else I had given my trust to. In some aspects I blame myself for being naive and falling into love like it’s an empty pit I happened to step into. I cover my own eyes claiming to be impulsive and spontaneous. I love too fast and too easily. I was only 16 and I ate up the lies he too fed me as if it were my last meal and I was on death row. I wanted so badly to believe he wanted me and loved me. I wanted to believe all the hundreds of boys in between could love me. Like a sociopath I too wanted to be admired and accepted for what I was. What I am. So in a small light the door of understanding is cracked open.

But I will never understand the way someone can purposefully drag others around just to watch them be strangled by the sadness and pain I caused. How can that same person stand and appreciate the beauty of mountain tops. How can that same person write a story to convince others they feel something so deep, when really they are a canyon of hollow walls that echo for days.

Every move was calculated and you had a predicted outcome. I can’t help but wonder if you did it hoping to feel something. It must be lonely to not be able to connect. To never know love or pain. Only to know that you’re unlike others and to have a hovering feeling of emptiness and to not understand why. Love is all most people have in this life and you’ll never know it. I’m glad for the pain you caused me because at least I can feel it. The destruction you cause is less catastrophic than the destruction inside yourself that you’re incapable of feeling.