I’ve never been asked if I did it; if I was guilty. And only twice was I asked if I was set up. This never surprised me; after all, I was guilty. But the one question I was always asked that threw me is, why?
Those who asked didn’t want to know what really happened, the truth. They wanted an excuse. They needed a reason for my depravity. They were grasping for something to hold on to. We’re looking for something that could explain my fall and obvious insanity because only an insane person would do what I did.
To me the answer to the ‘why?’ was blatantly clear; flashing like a neon sign. So when asked, I never answered. I refused to hide behind an excuse or to lie. Excuses are for pussies, losers, fuck-ups, and cowards. I steal because I was neglected. I rape because I was abused. I murder because I have a flaw in my code. Give me a fucking break! I did what had to be done. What no one else, could or would.
So as I reflect on my past, I do so without regret or excuses. I do so in all honesty even when it hurts like hell. Even when it slices away the last shreds of my heart. I did what I did because I loved and wanted to be loved. Yes, it’s that simple.