There have been too many fucked up things to count that I've had to witness in my lifetime, many of which happened during my childhood and messed with my already screwed up development. Warning in advance for graphic, disturbing, and slightly gory descriptions of the aforementioned horrors.
When I was around primary school age, a murder took place in my area. Because I grew up in such a small, secluded, village-like place everyone knows each other and the victim's children went to my school, their family members were friends with my father's girlfriend, everything is always connected when you come from a rural shithole and there is never any real sense of privacy. You always know everyone else's life story, whether you should or not.
Now, because of the connection between my father, his girlfriend, and the surviving family of the victim, I spent a lot of time with them because they were trusted to babysit me. For whatever reason, however, one day my father's girlfriend and her friend decided to take me and one of the other children to the house where the murder took place, because they were going to clean some things out of the place before it got sold or demolished.
My young mind never forget the police tape still littered around the house, the deep blood stains that penetrated the carpet (you could tell someone had attempted to scrub them away, but there was just so much blood everywhere) and the years out of date calendars and super market sales papers that were laying around as if no time had passed at all. I was deeply unsettled by this experience and it has stuck with me my entire life, because I just could not believe that other humans were capable of such sickening cruelty and seeing the effects of that first hand messed with my already sensitive psyche.
Shortly after this, my own father died. My father's side of the family tried to force me to attend the funeral, despite me being only 10 years old, but I had reservations about it because I didn't want my last memories of my father to be his dead body, especially when I had so many bad memories already of my father pulling a gun and trying to shoot himself or passing out drunk or disappearing for days at a time. I remember hearing some of the adults saying that an open casket funeral wouldn't be allowed due to how mangled the body was, and only a handful of people went to view the open coffin because of this solemn fact.
I had nightmares for weeks thinking about what my father may have looked like in his final moments. This fear resurfaced for me as a teenager, because I had to obtain my father's death certificate from the coroner as proof of lacking parental finances the first time I applied to university. Whenever I requested the documents, the autopsy report was given as well which described in gory detail all the greivious injuries my father suffered right before his death. It was so difficult for me to read this, even though it provided closure that my father died instantly and most likely did not suffer for very long.
I also had to often be a caretaker for my aunt as a child and spent a great deal of my life at her side, because she was very ill. Because of all of the health problems my aunt had she would frequently fall, and her joints and bones would pop out of the socket. There were so many times as a child where I would hear her fall and then the bloody murder screams of anguish while her body was crumpled on the floor.
Sometimes it would take the ambulances over half an hour to arrive so I would have to hear these screams non-stop for that long, unable to help, and witnessing these horrific scenes that looked like something out of a medical textbook rather than real life. Due to all of the treatments needed to keep her alive, my aunt had severe edema and gained over 200 pounds, had horrible scarring, discoloration, and skin problems all over her body, and barely resembled a human at certain points of her illness.
This agony was repeated for me again when my beloved grandfather died during my teenage years, because he faded away slowly and painfully over the course of a month. I cannot begin to describe how much it fucked me up to see my grandfather become unrecognisable, febrile, skin and bones, delirious to the point where he had cut into the plastic of his TV remote thinking it was an apple or a piece of wood he was whittling, in horrible pain, peeing all over the floor and my grandma breaking her back to care for him and put him in diapers, then eventually being able to make no noise except the death rattle. Which if you know this sound, the end is near.
Not death related, but I won't ever forget the feeling/sight of laying on the ground face down on my stomach, holding my breath, crawling on the floor and trying not to make a single sound so that the man who raped me wouldn't wake up and do it again while I was still bleeding. I won't ever forget the dehumanising and horrible things people said to me after it happened. I was only 18 years old and I crawled out of that house feeling as if I had aged a century.
This is not even counting all of the disgusting and messed up things I have seen on the internet, in medical and biological textbooks and papers I've had to read during my studies, or things I've read about secondhand. Only the things that I have seen in the flesh with my two eyes.
