My Twisted World

by Elliot Rodger

  There were about one hundred people at that party, and everyone was socializing with a group of friends except for me. I walked around in my drunken confidence for a few moments, helped myself to the beer they had, and tried to act like a normal party-goer. I soon became frustrated that no one was paying any attention to me, particularly the girls. I saw girls talking to other guys who looked like obnoxious slobs, but none of them showed any interest in me. As my frustration grew, so did my anger. I came across this Asian guy who was talking to a white girl. The sight of that filled me with rage. I always felt as if white girls thought less of me because I was half-Asian, but then I see this white girl at the party talking to a full-blooded Asian. I never had that kind of attention from a white girl! And white girls are the only girls I’m attracted to, especially the blondes. How could an ugly Asian attract the attention of a white girl, while a beautiful Eurasian like myself never had any attention from them? I thought with rage.

  I glared at them for a bit, and then decided I had been insulted enough. I angrily walked toward them and bumped the Asian guy aside, trying to act cocky and arrogant to both the boy and the girl. My drunken state got the better of me, and I almost fell over to the floor after a few minutes of this. They said something along the lines that I was very drunk and that I needed to get some water, so I angrily left them and went out to the front yard, where the main partying happened. Rage fumed inside me as I realized that I just walked away from that confrontation, so I rushed back into the house and spitefully insulted the Asian before walking outside again.

  I stood awkwardly in the front yard for a bit, realizing how pathetic I looked all by myself when everyone was partying around me. To calm down, I climbed up onto a wooden ledge that bordered the street and plunged down on one of the chairs there. Isla Vista was at its wildest state at that time, and I saw lots of guys walking around with hot blonde girls on their arm. It fueled me with rage, as it always had. I should be one of those guys, but no blonde girls gave me that chance. I looked down at all of them, and in my drunken carelessness, extended my arm out and pretended to shoot them all, laughing giddily as I did it. Eventually, some partiers climbed up onto the ledge. They were all obnoxious, rowdy boys whom I’ve always despised. A couple of pretty girls came up and talked to them, but not to me.

  They all started socializing right next to me, and none of the girls paid any attention to me. I rose from my chair and tried to act arrogant and cocky toward them, throwing insults at everyone. They only laughed at me and started insulting me back. That was the last straw, I had taken enough insults that night. A dark, hate-fueled rage overcame my entire being, and I tried to push as many of them as I could from the 10-foot ledge. My main target was the girls. I wanted to punish them for talking to the obnoxious boys instead of me. It was one of the most foolish and rash things I ever did, and I almost risked everything in doing it, but I was so drunk with rage that I didn’t care. I failed to push any of them from the ledge, and the boys started to push me, which resulted in me being the one to fall onto the street. When I landed, I felt a snap in my ankle, followed by a stinging pain. I slowly got up and found that I couldn’t even walk. I had to stumble, and stumble I did. I tried to get away from there as fast as I could.

  As I stumbled a few yards down Del Playa with my shattered leg, I realized that someone had stolen my Gucci sunglasses that my mother had given me. I loved those sunglasses, and had to get them back. I vehemently turned around and staggered back towards the party. At that point, I was so drunk that I forgot where the party was, and ended up walking onto the front yard of the house next to it, demanding to know who took my sunglasses. The people in this house must have been friends with the ones I previously fought with, for they greeted me with vicious hostility. They called me names like “faggot” and “pussy”, typical things those types of scumbags would say. A whole group of the obnoxious brutes came up and dragged me onto their driveway, pushing and hitting me. I wanted to fight and kill them all. I managed to throw one punch toward the main attacker, but that only caused them to beat me even more. I fell to the ground where they started kicking me and punching me in the face.

  Eventually, some other people from the street broke up the fight. I managed to have the strength to stand up and stagger away.

  It was the first time in my life that I had been truly beaten up physically to the point where my face was bruised up. I had suffered a lot of bullying in my life, but most of it wasn’t physical. I had never been beaten and humiliated that badly. Everyone in Isla Vista saw what happened, and it was truly horrific.

  The worst part of this whole ordeal was not getting beaten up, oh no. It was the fact that no one showed any concern. There was only one group who helped me to the end of Del Playa, but after that they abandoned me. Not one girl offered to help me as I stumbled home with a broken leg, beaten and bloody. If girls had been attracted to me, they would have offered to walk me to my room and take care of me. They would have even offered to sleep with me to make me feel better. But no, not one girl showed an ounce of concern for me. They didn’t care. No one cared about me. I was all alone.

  As I got to my room, I was so traumatized that I called the only people in the world I knew, my parents and my sister. Yes, I even called my sister, someone I never got along with. I sulked for a long time, and then I reached up to my neck to feel my special golden necklace, and I felt nothing there. In the midst of the fight, one of those horrible punks had snatched off my special golden necklace that my grandma Ah Mah had given me! That necklace was one of the most special items I had, and now one of those evil, wretched thugs will be selling it to buy drugs. I broke down in anguish and wailed in agony, crying and crying until I passed out in my bed, all alone.

  When I woke up the next morning, my leg was in absolute agony. It was purple and swollen, and I could not even stumble anymore. I had to crawl. Being fully sober, all of my anxiety came back. It became very clear to me what had happened. I felt enraged by everything, but also fearful that I might get in trouble. I did try to push girls off of a ledge and threatened to kill all of those people, which could implicate me. I had to concoct a fairly altered story to explain to the police, who would inevitably have to interview me once I got to the hospital and reported my injury.

  My father drove up to Santa Barbara to bring me to the hospital. Two police did interview me, and I told them that those boys deliberately pushed me off of the ledge after I acted “cocky” towards them. I didn’t mention the girls at all. I expressed to the police of my wishes that they should all be punished for this. The police then went to interview them, and they had their own version of the story. Since there was no actual evidence, the whole case was shortly dismissed.

  The physician at the hospital put me in a temporary cast and gave me crutches. On top of all other things in the world that made me feel inferior, I was now a cripple. I felt so defeated and broken. To my horror, the physician said that I would have to be in crutches for the next six weeks, and I might have to get surgery.

  The leg that broke was my left leg, so I was still able to drive. Shortly after the incident, I drove home to spend the rest of the summer recovering. It was a depressing drive. I had never felt so defeated and wronged in my life. I had actually gone out to a party in Isla Vista, hoping that I would be walking back to my room in triumph with a beautiful girl on my arm, but instead I stumbled back to my room with a shattered leg and shattered hopes.

  My 22nd Birthday was a miserable experience. I sat around at my mother’s house, staring at my broken leg, feeling so pathetic for being a cripple, as well as a 22-year-old virgin. My mother bought me a new golden necklace to replace the one that was stolen from me, as she knew how heartbroken I was about losing it.

  22 Years Old

  The highly unjust experience of being beaten and humiliated in front of everyone in Isla Vista, and their subsequent lack of concern for my well-being, was the last and final straw. I actually gave them all one last chance to accep
t me, to give me a reason not to hate them, and they devastatingly blew it back in my face. I gave the world too many chances. It was time for Retribution.

  I went into surgery in the beginning of August. After visiting the local orthopedist, he recommended that I have my broken ankle surgically screwed in place instead of waiting for it to heal by itself. I decided to go through with it, just so I could be out of crutches sooner. My mother drove me to the hospital early in the morning, and I was wrought with fear. I had never been through such a thing in my life. They put me to sleep with anesthesia, and when I woke up my leg burned with pain, though the pain medication they injected in me afterward helped ease this. A new cast was placed on my leg. I didn’t even want to think about what it looked like underneath. I was told that they screwed in a titanium plate to hold the fractured bone in place, and it required six screws. I rested in the hospital for a few hours before I was allowed to go home, under the instructions that I would have to keep my leg raised at all times for the next week.

  Shortly after my surgery, my mother and sister went on a vacation to Hawaii. They had been planning this for a long time, and of course I refused to go with them when they initially asked me months before.

  My mother didn’t want me to stay in her house all alone in the crippled state that I was in. Taking care of the house in such a condition would be too difficult, and there would be no one there to provide immediate assistance in case of an emergency. I asked father if I could stay at his house, but Soumaya was having some of her relatives staying for the summer, so she refused to let me stay there because it would be “too much for her to handle”, despite the fact that father’s house had six bedrooms and plenty of space for me to occupy. Father, of course, gave in to Soumaya’s rules as he always had. My respect for him was already so low that it couldn’t get any lower because of this.

  Due to this little difficulty, my mother booked me a hotel room at Extended Stay America in Woodland Hills. I was content with this. The hotel was comfortable enough, and my mother stocked me with a lot of food for the week that I would be there. It provided a nice atmosphere to recover from the horrific experiences I had just recently endured. The only thing I disliked about this hotel was that it was located right across the street from Taft High School, so whenever I looked out the window I saw a place that had caused me great suffering in the distant past. I thought about the bullying I received at Taft, and in a way my experience there was quite similar to what had just happened to me on that fateful night in Isla Vista. I was bullied by thugs, and the girls adored the bullies instead of me. Indeed, a very similar scenario.

  Only now, I was ready and capable of fighting back against the cruelty of women. Back when I was a weak and timid boy at Taft High School, I was powerless and frightened, having to resort to hiding in a life of playing video games. All of the suffering, loneliness, rejection, and humiliation I had to experience since then had strengthened me. The hatred that festered inside me in all of those years leading up to this point had empowered me in a dark, twisted way. I was now armed with weapons, possessed great intelligence and philosophical insight, with the willpower to exact the most catastrophic act of vengeance the world will ever see.

  I spent the next week in that hotel room brooding about the injustices of life and my place in the world. It fully dawned on me that I would now have to bring about the Day of Retribution. There was no other hope. I mused that once I descend upon Isla Vista, armed with my weapons and my burning hatred, I would definitely make sure to target the people who lived in that house I was attacked in. The plan was to destroy the entirety of Isla Vista, and kill every single person in it, or at least kill as many popular young people I could before the police arrive and I’d have to kill myself.

  I felt so shocked and overwhelmed upon realizing that it was definitely going to resort to this. I was going to die soon, and that in itself was hard to accept. I didn’t want to die, but I would have no choice.

  Vengeance is the only path; all other paths had been closed shut. I thought it to be such a tragedy that I was actually going to wage war against women and all of humanity. But then again, women’s rejection of me was a declaration of war. They insulted me by deeming me inferior of their love and sex. They hate me, and I will return that hatred one-thousand fold. I will inflict suffering on everyone in Isla Vista, just like they have made me suffer. In the past, I have always been at their mercy, and I was given none.

  On the Day of Retribution, everyone will be at my mercy, and in turn I will show them no mercy at all.

  My Retribution will be so devastating that it will shake the very foundations of the world.

  My broken leg was a setback, of course. Even with surgery, I’d have to be in crutches for six weeks, and even after that it would take a while to be able to walk normally again. I figured I won’t be walking normally until October. There was no way I’d be well enough to prepare for the Day of Retribution by November. There was too little time. I made a new plan to set the ultimate and final date for the Day of Retribution to be at the end of the Spring of 2014. This would give me plenty of time to prepare. The Day of Retribution was now my whole reason for living. It’s all I have to live for. This act of deadly vengeance against the people who have wronged me is my sole purpose on this world. I needed as much time as possible in order to plan it efficiently.

  Postponing the Day of Retribution also gave me a few more months of life. Perhaps I would also use that time to look for a way out. I have always been itching for a way out of this, and even with the recent events that had occurred, a small part of me still clung to that inkling of hope.

  Gavin came to visit me at the hotel, and he was welcome company. It was really getting lonely there, though it was definitely better than being lonely in Isla Vista. The two of us sat down for three hours in my hotel room to have an important conversation. I explained to him my finely altered version of everything that happened on that night in Isla Vista. He didn’t seem surprised. When he was my age, he used to go up to Isla Vista quite often. He told me that the kind of brutal, rowdy atmosphere I’ve witnessed was part of the culture there. The boisterous, wild frat boys get all of the beautiful girls, and everyone is looking for a fight, like the vicious animals they are. He said it was a truth I had to accept, advising me to move out of there. I couldn’t accept this truth, because it was unjust. I couldn’t let such evil exist, and I will not run away from it by moving out of there. I will either thrive there, or destroy the place utterly. Since I failed to thrive there, I had no choice but to plan my Retribution.

  When my mother came back from Hawaii, I went to stay at her house for the next month, until my leg healed enough for me to lose the crutches. I didn’t want to go back to Santa Barbara while still in crutches, it would be too humiliating, and I had felt humiliated enough there already.

  For the first week after surgery, my leg suffered intense searing pain, though that searing pain was nothing compared to the hatred that burned in my heart. During that time, I could barely leave my bed, because whenever I did, the blood rushed to my leg and triggered the pain. For the entire time that I was in the hotel, I stayed in my bed like a vegetable. After that initial week, the pain subsided, and I was able to move about on my crutches with greater ease. I often did laps around my mother’s backyard as a way of venting my anger, sometimes swinging my crutches around as if they were swords, slashing at all of the enemies who had wronged me in life.

  The month that I spent at mother’s house was very relaxing, and I tried my best to calm myself down as time passed. I spent a lot of time watching movies, reading books, introspecting, and contemplating about life. I stayed in the house all the time, for I despised having to go out and be seen as a cripple. I already felt insecure enough about myself for being a lonely virgin. Being seen as a cripple was too much salt on the wound.

  Gavin came to visit me again, and this time we sat in my mother’s dining room to have yet another important conversation about my life and wh
ere I was going. He tried to advise me again to move out of Isla Vista, but I refused to hear it. I moved to Isla Vista with the goal of losing my virginity and attaining the life I desire. If I’m unable to have it, I will destroy it. I will never run away in defeat.

  My parents arranged for us to have a conference with my Psychiatrist, Dr. Charles Sophy. I set out with my mother to meet father outside Dr. Sophy’s house in Beverly Hills, and when we got there we were surprised to see that Soumaya had come for the conference too. This presented a conflict, because Soumaya and my mother had recently had an argument due to Soumaya refusing to let me stay at father’s house during my mother’s trip to Hawaii. For more than half of the conversation, the doctor spent time resolving this petty conflict instead of addressing the troubles that I was going through.

  When we finally did get to my situation, Dr. Sophy ended up giving me the same useless advice that every other psychiatrist, psychologist, and counsellor had given me in the past. I don’t know why my parents wasted money on therapy, as it will never help me in my struggle against such a cruel and unjust world. The doctor ended up dismissing it by prescribing me a controversial medication, Risperidone.

  After researching this medication, I found that it was the absolute wrong thing for me to take. I refused to take it, and I never saw Dr. Sophy again after that.