[FONT=""][COLOR=""][SIZE=""]Male, 17
British Columbia, Canada

I'm putting this on here because I feel like if I don't tell anyone, it'll end up killing me, and that thought has been weighing really heavily on me since new year's.

The short edition of my story, the one that just deals in what immediately relevant to this and disregards my family situation and everything, is still really fucked up. I mean, if you're reading this: it's so fucked up that I as the person living it can barely manage to. I almost want to throw up writing this: even though it's anonymous.

I came across porn when I was seven or eight on my dad's laptop. Then his phone. Then... everywhere. It was pretty soft-core. But I think it imprinted on my brain. After about a year of coming across this stuff, so I'm about nine at this point, I do two things. I start looking for it on my own, and I act out sexually with my brother. I can recall two incidents, both at my grandpa's fairly remote cabin. And I felt horrible about those the rest of my life, I still do. My brother has anger issues and doesn't seem to have developed mentally well, and every time I see evidence of this I blame myself, but I also tell myself that I was a just kid... not that that makes it OK, but that the me that did that isn't the me that's alive today. I told my mom what happened when I was twelve, we both went into therapy. But I didn't mention this next part to my therapist and still haven't.

I'm making this too long. I hope someone reads this far. After watching porn so often at such a young age I started looking at harder core stuff. BDSM. Breath play. Eventually, even rape.

Snuff.

Putting those words down horrifies me. I feel this gaping hole when I acknowledge that it's there. This coldness. I really really hate that after all these years I still fantasize about those videos late at night, that they still bring me to orgasm when it's dark and I'm half asleep and not entirely in control. It's brought me to hold this deep seated hatred of myself. I tell myself that I'm a monster, and that I deserve to die.

I accidentally left my laptop in my room tonight. I watched a snuff video. I'm... I don't know who I am, who watched that video. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'd never. I have one really close friend and that's about it: I've been shutting myself off from pretty much everyone else. I don't speak to my mother about important things anymore, I don't speak to my father at all and haven't seen him in years since he moved out, and I get the feeling that most of my house knows there's something wrong with me and just wants to avoid me. I'm wondering if I should distance myself from my last close friend as well. I'm about to move out and the adult life I see in front of me doesn't seem worth living with this hanging over me. With not being able to trust or control myself. Knowing I'm moving in a world where what I've seen, what I even fucking enjoyed, isn't just taboo but is UNTHINKABLE to literally everyone.

I know I'm sick and I've avoided my therapist for a solid five weeks now. This is the most serious relapse I've ever had but for five or six weeks I've been circling it. And wondering if I'm meant to live a long life or if hanging myself in three years or whatever is the only way this ends.[/size][/color][/font]