Whenever people meet me they always ask me one question. That question is "why?" People ask me why I would ever do something as horrible as I did.
I can answer that question with one word, obsession. Obsession drove me to do what I did.
Your probably wondering what it was I did. I know you are. I know that your curiosity is overwhelming you. Do not fear, I am about to answer your question.
The best way to explain this to you is to start from the beginning. I have always been a poor man. Even in my childhood, I grew up in poverty. It didn't help that my father left us and that my mom did not have a college degree so she had to work at least five different jobs with little pay.
You're probably wondering what this has to do with anything. You will soon learn that it has to do with everything.
I never got good grades and I was poor so college was definitely not an option. My working life became the same as my mom's was. I worked several crappy jobs to make a living. Those included bagging groceries and emptying garbage cans.
With my terrible income, rent was hard to pay. I was constantly being kicked out of apartments. I spent many nights on the street, freezing my ass off.
Eventually, after a week of living on the street, I met a very nice man who offered to let me rent a room in his house.
The man's name was Ronald. He was very kind, no complaints about him. No complaints at all, except that he had a slight deformity that disturbed me. Did I say slight? No, it was grotesque; I could barely stand the sight of him. He had a third arm.
It was disgusting; I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was bad enough that I had to find a way to not stare whenever I was around but the thought of it kept creeping into my mind.
I would spend many hours, awake in bed, trying to fall asleep but I kept thinking of his third arm. Would it ever leave me alone?
Even during my work hours, I would feel nauseous, thinking about it. I sometimes would even find myself throwing up.
After a while, Ronald recognized my pain but not the cause. When he would ask me what was wrong, I would just make something up and just avoid the subject, for I didn't want to hurt his feelings since after all it was the arm I hated, not the man.
Soon my obsession began to eat me alive. I couldn't eat or sleep. I found it hard to function most of the time.
After several weeks, I had enough. I decided that I must do something about it. I realized that moving out wasn't an option. Where would I go? Ronald charged me half the price a tenement would. I had a good deal there.
After coming to a conclusion, I immediately decided that it was the arm that had to go and not me. I knew that I couldn't kill the man because like I said before, it was the arm I hated not Ronald.
I decided that I would just cut it off. I figured that it was what was best for both me and Ronald, since without the arm he wouldn't be deformed anymore.
I became delighted with my idea. I saw no wrong in it. I still don't. It wasn't until later that it went wrong.
That night I decided that was when I would provide the amputation. I found an old hack saw and cleaned the rust off of it. I made it so that he would not receive an infection. I finished the preparation by grabbing a rag to cover up his wound when I would be done.
I waited until he was asleep before entering his room. Luckily for me he was a very heavy sleeper. This made it so much easier to do.
I pulled away his blanket and brought his third arm out. I remember scowling in disgust at it. It still sickens me when I think about it.
I prepared myself to saw it off but I couldn't bring myself to do it for some reason. Maybe it was watching him peacefully as he slept. Or maybe the thought of blood disgusted me. Whatever it was, it caused me to not be able to perform the deed right away.
I kept trying to start but I just couldn't. I would place the saw on his arm and prepare to saw it off but I couldn't.
Eventually, after several minutes, I decided that I must start so I closed my eyes and began to move the saw.
The saw quickly digs into his arm. Ronald eyes open and he shrieks in pain and tries to struggle.
Fearing that he could cause me to mess up, I hit him in his face. The blow stuns him, leaving me to finish the job.
A minute later, I successfully removed his arm. Blood was everywhere but it was done. Naturally, the shock and pain of this knocked Arnold out.
After the arm had been removed, I wrapped the rag around his wound to stop the bleeding. I tied it around it.
I then slipped out of the room. I washed the blood off the saw and left it in the sink. I also washed the blood off my hands before disposing of that dreadful hand by tossing it into the garbage can, outside.
After doing all this, I went to bed. It was the first time in a long while that I had slept. I slept soundly, knowing that dreadful third arm was long gone.
The next morning I went to see how Ronald was. He looked terrible. His face was pale and he was terrified, scared completely out of his wits. My rag however did a good job at stopping the bleeding.
Ronald was so scared that he didn't want to get out of bed. He told me of what had happened. I told him that it was me who had done it and I told him that there was no need to thank me.
The moment he heard that Ronald screamed and tried diving away from me, he was very weak however so it was very easy for me to get him back onto the bed.
Once I got him pinned on the bed Ronald asked me why. I explained to him that his arm was disgusting and that he should be happy to be rid of it.
Ronald's mood at that moment changes from scared to angry. He calls me a lunatic and threatened to tell the police.
Once he said police, I myself turned pale. The thought of going to jail terrified me. I tried to convince him not to do it but he refused.
I knew that I had to kill him in order to avoid that. I still didn't want to kill the man, though.
I threatened to kill him if he spoke of it. Upon hearing that, Ronald's face grows paler and I'm guessing that he realized that telling on me that was a mistake. Ronald agreed not to rat out on me to police.
That satisfied me so I left to bring him breakfast. I entered the kitchen and prepared to make him waffles when I heard Ronald enter the room. I turned around and some him standing there, leaning on the kitchen table, holding a gun.
He told me to get on the floor. Without thinking I grabbed the plate I was using and hurled it at him. The plate hit him and shattered, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. As this happened, however, he fired several shots at me.
I was hit in my arm and the force and pain of the bullet hitting me, caused me to fall backwards to the ground.
You know how in movies how people get shot and shrug it off. Like in Scarface or Knockaround Guys. That's not how it is in real life, when you're shot, your down.
I could barely stay conscious. I had to use everything I had to avoid the pain. I looked over at Ronald and saw that he was still on the ground and couldn't get up. He had dropped the gun soon after falling and it was laying a few feet in front of him and at least ten away from me.
I use my remaining energy to crawl towards the gun. Ronald sees me doing this and gets the same idea. He gets to the gun first and orders me not to move.
I decide that he wouldn't actually shoot me and that shooting me the first time was an accident.
I test this theory by grabbing the gun. We wrestle for it. During the scuffle we had, Ronald managed to fire off several shots. Lucky for me it only hit the ceiling and one of the walls.
Ronald eventually lets go of the gun and I grasp it. He takes advantage of my distraction by hitting me in my face.
I'm guessing that he was counting on that to knock me out. It dazed me for a second, but only a second.
I then shot him in his face, blood splatters all over me. The combination of my disgust and pain caused by my gunshot wound causes me to pass out.
I was awoken by the sound of the doorbell. I gathered enough strength to sit up. I looked at my arm and saw that it was still bleeding. I realized that I needed to get help fast and that the only way I was going to be able to do that would be to get whoever was at the door to help me.
I was in so much pain that I wasn't thinking about the consequences I was going to have to face. I was also so weak that I couldn't speak so I did the next best thing to get the person's attention; I fired the gun at the ceiling.
This alarmed the people at the door so they kicked the door down. The last thing I remember before passing out was two cops rushing in.
I later woke up in the hospital with the wound treated and the bullet removed. I was later questioned by police and since my finger prints were on the gun, the bullet that killed Ronald was matched with the gun, and the saw and arm was found and connected to Ronald, I confessed to everything.
I was later tried and found not guilty due to insanity and was sent to an asylum. Even though I don't find myself insane, I didn't argue, knowing the consequences that I would receive if I wasn't found to be insane.
So here we are now. I've told you my story. And now you must understand that it had to be done. I know you understand me. I just know you do. I also know that you don't think of me as insane. I know you don't. Of course you don't. You're not like them. Not like them at all.