A Few Answers To Questions You Always Wondered About

February 6, 2019 | No Comments » | Topics: Interesting

What goes on in the mind of a potential school shooter?

I suffer from Autism, social anxiety, PTSD, and severe anger issues. At school I’m usually mocked by other peers for being the “weird white kid” and called a school shooter a lot because i had a crazy big obsession with the Columbine shooting.

I was and still an 16 yo and live in a small country with strict firearm laws but have access to them. I was going through a really bad time in my life, I was struggling with my old best friend who helped me through my mental health but started to ghost me and use me for my money, my ex girlfriend at the time has just broken up with me and my social anxiety had turned me into a suicidal and angry mess. I was dumped the night before because my ex liked another guy and I was really really upset and angry because it was like the straw that broke the camels back.

I was at school, this was on the 25th of August 2018 where I was super angry, these kids were picking on me and threatening to beat me up and laughing at me. I was in a really bad mood and ranting in this journal I carried around where I ranted about my anger when I suddenly got the overwhelming feeling of rage and suicidal thoughts, I started writing about an idea to shoot Up the school, I was writing quite a lot about it when I decided it would be a good idea to just do it. I walked out of class when my friend walked past me and I remember saying “dude, go home.” and he asked why and I just said “I’m just going to do something, I recommend you just get the fuck out of here”. I remember sending a message to my ex basically saying I was doing something and to just forget about me, she had known I’d had these thoughts for a long time (I’ve had thoughts of brining a firearm to school since I was 10). She started freaking out, calling me and trying to calm me down, I was about to walk out of school when all of a sudden I realised what I was going to do, I remember calling the mental health clinic where I live and asking for my psychologist to pick me up and I told them what had nearly happened.

It was a very very scary experience, something that still messes with me to this day. I’m in a happy relationship with someone else now, I cut that ex best friend out of my life and still talk to my ex today, we’re good friends. I’ve been a lot calmer lately after I started doing more therapy with my psychologist about my past, bullying and all other stuff going On that I didn’t talk to, I even temporarily moved to a school for people with mental health to calm down. I’ve told a few friends about this and I ended up telling my mum and my older brother.

 

 

What’s it like to fight a pure Wing Chun Fighter?

Depressing.

Not for how you’re probably thinking.

Me and a few other people were minding our own business, training, and in walks a new guy to the gym. Says he does wing chun. I’m immediately dubious (I know WC’s record in actually fighting), but it’s an open class, he joins in.

End of class rolls around, and we get to sparring.

He had no clue what he was doing. He had no head movement, no guard whatsoever if you used basic footwork, no power behind his punches, and his kicks were useless against – you guessed it – an opponent who moved and fought back.

He had started the same age I did.

He had never sparred before.

We were both 19.

Let that sink in. He had been practicing *martial* arts for 13 years.

And he had never put gloves on an sparred with anyone. I started light sparring on my first day.

He then tried to blame it on the gloves we were using (standard 16oz boxing gloves), so we switched to MMA 4oz gloves.

Same thing. I stood out of reach, and punched/kicked him at will.

He then said “well we fight close in, you wouldn’t beat me there”.

So we clinched up. Let that sink in. He *willingly* clinched up with a guy training Muay Thai under a Thai. You know, international masters of clinch striking. That went bad as well. So he spouted some rubbish about eye gouging and biting.

You can guess where that got him. I said “I’m OK with that, as long as you understand that I’ll be able to do the same thing, and you take a moment to look at the rest of the sparring session so far.” Funnily enough he shut up then. (For anyone who’s going to say anything in the comments, I was calling his bluff. If he’d said “lets spar” after that I would have just kinda pissed myself laughing then said “hell no are you (expletives inserted here) stupid/arrogant/idiotic!” Whilst they do change the landscape regarding sparring, if he can’t beat me when I’m restricted by rules, he won’t be able to beat me when I’m unrestricted, given I’m used to my opponent trying to actually hurt me).

He was training under one of those guys who trained under Ip Man himself. He trained for 13 years. He didn’t land one solid punch, kick, sweep, throw or anything in general for 30 minutes solid. I get taken apart by low-level amateur fighters pretty easily (sparring at my normal karate place, while common, is relatively limited).

Oh yeah. He was planning on testing soon to be a full instructor.

One word.

Depressing.

Alex Verrier

 

 

What’s it like to date a Gold Digger?

When I was in my 20’s, I had a very, very beautiful woman wind up being the biggest gold-digger I ever went out with. Once I fully realized what was happening, I ended things immediately, drove her back to her car and we never went out again.

So let’s call her… Julie. Julie was a fitness contestant/exotic dancer with a body that stopped traffic. And while she had this super, over-the-top body, she also had over-sized implants that made her look like a real-life Jessica Rabbit, hair and everything. She stopped traffic, and that’s not an expression, cars literally slowed down or stopped to watch her walk down the street. She gave me a picture of her in a bikini. I would show my friends and most of them were in disbelief that I even knew her, let alone was going out with her.

And… how exactly did we meet? At a strip club of course. I was young and more naive than most, but it turned out we had mutual friends in common and we wound up spending a couple of hours together talking. We “seemed” to hit it off and have a lot in common… or so I thought.

At the end of the night, being the naive numb-skull that I was, I thought I actually had a chance with her, I asked her out. To my surprise, holy crap, she said yes— I was on Cloud Nine and couldn’t beliebe my luck. I’m not sure I even slept that night in anticipation of our first date.

However, I soon realized that one we did go out, every date suggestion she made (she always shot down what I wanted to do), was over-the-top. I was OK with that for our first date, and even our second, but soon realized that there was never an offer of a quiet evening at home or having an inexpensive dinner out, etc. Every date or date suggestion she had (and we had three dates) was a extravaganza that cost me well in excess of $500-$700.

Each time, it was the same; at the end of the date, we’d share a quick kiss and she’d find some reason she needed to go home ASAP. I began to sense I was being taken for a ride and decided to stop calling her.

But she wasn’t done with me… yet.

One day, she called and asked me what I was doing and wanted to get together. I was honest and told her she was kind of breaking me. Again, I was in my 20’s at the time, not making a lot of money, and this was killing my bank account.

Then she surprised me by offering me a quiet evening at my house, claiming that she wanted to make medinner. OK, this is better, I thought. And it was better… until about two hours before she was supposed to come over, when she called to inform me that her “Favorite comedian in the wooorrrld” was in town and for only “one more day. Can we PLEEEEEEASE do that instead??” She then threw in multiple references to the wild night at home we’d have later as a result. That was always her way; insinuate that you were going to have the time of your life with her later.

She could teach fisherman how to better bait a hook, she was that good at this.

OK, you probably get where this is going, right? Unfortunately, I didn’t. “Sure!” I said. Sounds great!! What time do you want to meet?” I should have known when she wanted to meet halfway what was coming.

Of course, she tells me that now that we’re doing this instead that we simply must go to her favorite local restaurant now (She “always went there first— it’s a tradition!”), and that came to $200+. Then front row tickets to the show plus drinks, and that came to another $300.

She’s also getting progressively drunk as the night goes on and is now telling me how her dress (a tight-fitting denim number with buttons from top to bottom on the front), “just pops right off… which is going to be really convenient.. tonight. Wink, wink.”

Ironically enough, while I certainly wanted to have sex with her, I also thought I liked her and that this might be a way for us to formalize a relationship. The show ends and we drive back to my house.

We get there, have drinks andtalk for a few minutes about our the night. She seems to be having fun, and then suddenly and out of the blue… she totally clams up… and needs to leave “right away…” yetagain. Something about not being comfortable that her car is parked in a public lot. Ironically, for being so hot, she drove a piece of crap econobox), which keep in mind, she hadn’t been concerned about all evening… that is until it was time for us to be romantic together.

Then it hits me– I’m totally being played by this gold-digger!! %(**@#&!!! And holy crap, she’s managed to do it to me… again!

I tell her she’s damn right she needs to leave right away, and that I will take her back to her car IMMEDIATELY. It was clear to me now… even naive twenty-something me. She was just using me to live the high life, couldn’t care less about me, and then once it was time to demonstrate that she actually liked me in some way, shape or form–and by that I mean even just some kissing and being openly affectionate- ran home.

I heard from other guys later that this was not uncommon for her, but that if that if you had enough money—and I’m talking private jet money—she actually would sleep with you. I also hear that these guys—the one’s who had that kind of money—used her just as much as she was using them, and threw her away when they were done with her.

Karma’s a bitch, right?

We drove back to her car in complete silence. It had been yet another expensive lesson, but this one stuck. I dropped her off without a word in the parking lot, pulled out before I saw her get in her car, and never spoke to her again.

– Errol Greene

 

 

What It’s Like To Be Cheated On By Someone You Love

Have you ever balled up your fists so tight for so long that your knuckles got all white, your nails started digging into your palms, and you were afraid you might be drawing blood? When letting your hands slowly open up feels almost unnatural after having them so tightly wound for so long? It kind of feels like that. It’s a pain which is at once deeply frustrating and oddly self-sustaining. You feed into the anger because it comforts you, in a strange way. Because to stop being angry, to stop clenching your fists, to loosen up for a minute and let go, would mean you have to feel the actual undercurrent of your anger: your pain.

Finding out, of course, is most accurately described as an unexpected punch to the stomach. There are some people who have been taken aside and told with composure and elegance that they have been betrayed in the most profound way they could be. “I made a mistake,” the culprit might say, or, “I found someone else.” Depending on the intensity of the illicit relationship, the confession could range from the deeply apologetic to the coldly indifferent. But for those who find out because they stumbled across the evidence, or found it after frantic hours of terrified searching, the punch is strong enough to force the air entirely out of the lungs.

The searching is perhaps the worst part, the breathless moments before the floor falls out from underneath you. That precarious dangling in the purgatory where you at once want to find something — anything — to justify your gnawing suspicions, and you want to be relieved with a realization that it was all in your head. In many ways, though, once that frantic searching has begun, there is no way to be satisfied that you imagined it all. If you have been driven to the point of checking through messages or looking in pockets or asking potential witnesses, if you have allowed yourself to come to the ugly, unflattering point of invading the privacy of the person you love to prove yourself right, you have already lost.

And you know it. You know you have become what you had always condescendingly looked down upon, the couple who is as untrusting and dysfunctional as they are unable to admit it. But somehow, finding that shred of evidence or hearing the confirmation which proves you right in the worst way possible is almost a triumphant moment of victory. You have won, and you have lost everything. But for at least those few precious milliseconds of “a-ha!” you have gotten exactly what you wanted. And then comes the fall, the bottomless descent into every ugly moment of self-doubt and self-loathing in an attempt to find a justification or explanation which could never exist.

What did you do wrong? What does the other person do better? Do they smell better? Taste better? Have more interesting things to say at parties which don’t involve sarcastic, ill-timed jokes? Suddenly, everything you are is wrong, every aspect of yourself is something you want to peel off and throw on the floor behind you. And the ignorant person you were before, the one blissfully unaware of all that was happening behind a turned back, is suddenly both laughable and enviable. You cringe imagining all of the things that were happening when you weren’t looking, but wish that you could return to a moment where not knowing was a possibility. But that person — the ignorant-yet-blissful person who was only so happy to be unwittingly cheated on — was ultimately not good enough to keep your love.

And that is the real pain, the idea that there was something that was yours to keep which you were unable to hold a tight enough grip on. You delude yourself into believing that there was anything you could have done to prevent it, and yet never stop to understand that it was entirely your partner’s choice. If anyone could have stopped anything, it was your partner. Somehow, placing the blame where it truly belongs when cheated on is about as futile as feeling positively towards the “other.” At the end of the day, there is always something to find fault in within yourself, something which can be identified as the true culprit in the infidelity, instead of the beloved cheater. “If only I were thinner” somehow makes more sense than “if only he wasn’t a cheater.”

As you unclench that fist, let go of all of every minor pain you’ve kept close to your chest so as to not have to see it in its full splendor, you finally exhale. You distance yourself from the betrayal and start to believe — the way a baby bird might open its wings for the first time — that not everyone must be monitored with the distrusting cunning of a fox. You accept that you may not have been able to stop it, or that you certainly didn’t deserve it. And while there will always be a part of you which longs to look twice at the inbox of a cellphone, who can’t believe that someone can be honest for uninterrupted years at a time, it is up to all of us to push those thoughts away. “If they are going to do it,” we must say, “Ruining myself in worry and doubt will not stop them.”