Entry 1

The first day I found out about my obsession with fire was on my fourth birthday. I found out about it accidentally. I wanted a cake but my mother and father would not allow it. I knew candles were on cakes and that you lit them with matches. I had seen other children with cakes. I enjoyed the smell of the match and the glow from the fire. It looked so strong, and here I was feeling weak.

I behaved like I was supposed to. Mother and father believed that all children should be seen and not heard on less spoken directly to. I was curious; this I knew. I asked many questions. I guessed I must have annoyed my father. When I continued to ask questions he yelled at me and turned back to his beer.

He made me stay in my room with few toys or books for hours on end. Today was one of those days. I really wanted that cake, and it wasn't because I wanted to eat it or get presents. I wanted to experience that strong glow up close.

Sometime, around five, I heard my father leave to go to the bar. I snuck out if my bedroom. I knew if he found out he'd be furious with me for disobeying his orders, but I was hungry. As I stepped quietly into the kitchen I saw them. The little white pack of matches that came with cigarettes. I walked towards them. I couldn't stop myself from reaching up and grabbing them. As I returned to my room, I was filled with a strange sense of excitement.

Sitting on my floor, I opened the matches and removed one. I examined the way it felt. How it smelled. How it made me feel in my very own hand. I struck it and it came to life. The flame danced around on that tiny, little stick. It surprised me. I never saw that glow this close. I dropped it in the trash, thinking it was out, but it was not.

During my sleep I saw a bright glowing coming from the corner of the room. It was my trashcan. I almost freaked out but then remembered that fire goes away with water, so I dumped my glass of it on top. Thankfully it went out and no one ever found out.

I told myself thus was the last time I played with fire, but I was wrong.

Entry 2

I had dreams about that incident every night since it happened. I felt so powerful in the dreams. I burnt anything I could get my hands on. It didn't matter. As long as it burned and I caused it, then I was happy.

The next fire mishap happened when I was six. I was playing war with my toys, and a strong feeling came over me. It possessed my thinking. I don't remember going to the kitchen and taking the long lighter that my mother used to light candles. I honestly do not remember any of it. I don't recall climbing up the stairs and going back to my toys.

The next thing a huge fire was in front of me. I panicked and heard feet rushing so I his the lighter for fear it would be taken. My babysitter put it out and taught me about fire safety. She bought me tons of books about what fire really was, why it was dangerous, and what to do about them. She was convinced I was gonna be a firefighter when I read them all repeatedly.

I tried to control my urges, and for a while I had. I referred to my books whenever I had an urge, but I grew tiresome of that after a while.

Entry 3

I had a pretty rough time at school. I didn't really talk to any of the other kids. Sometimes I lasted out. Usually this was when I had an unsatisfiable urge. I'd feel like I want to be in control of class or a project and my mind would instantly flash back to fire. With fire I was always in control. There was me and the fire and no one else, I decided want got burnt and for how long. I experimented with some chemicals to see if they'd make it stronger. That's what I wanted, to be stronger.

I wanted to stand up against my father. He constantly yelled at me. It used to scare me, but now I feel nothing. I am empty without fire, and I am torn apart with it. When someone merely utters the word 'fire' I start to squirm. The urge to burn comes, and when I satisfy it the urge grows and grows until it is tearing at my very soul.

I set fires more frequently. I can control them. So no one can find out and take it away from me. I burn pieces of paper with a lighter at recess. The others kids call me weird for going off all alone. No of them know.

Recently I have been careless. I was burning some old papers outside behind the shed and I fell asleep. I had been up all night. I couldn't sleep because of my urges. I had to burn something right then and there or I would have gone insane. I burned scrap paper in the sink so I could easily put the flames out. I just needed to see something burn.

When I awoke the entire shed was engulfed in flames. I felt so excited. I had never seen fire this enormous before. It made me feel so powerful, like nothing could knick me down. When I realized that the fire was too strong I tried to put it out, but I was unsuccessful. The fire department put it out after my neighbors called.

They had a conversation with my parents about keeping an eye on me. My dad was furious because I had burned down many of his tools. I was grounded for a long time, so, for a while, I was stuck to lighting secretive fires in my bedroom when I had an urge. I had decided that I couldn't control them, so it was best to just go with the flow.

Entry 4

For a long time I was back to lighting small pieces of paper ablaze in my sink. It held my attention but not for long. My urges grew larger and larger. I trued to somehow control them, but it grew increasingly harder to so. I was struggling every that I often thought about giving up and giving in to any urge completely.

After trying so hard to not set fires I gave in. I started sneaking out if the house and setting multiple fires in my neighborhood. Usually I set hedges on fire. Usually it was something small that wouldn't cause too much damage, but the size kept growing. It grew until I had letting small sheds on fire. I would stare in amazement at them. I loved being powerful. It made me feel so alive.

My parents found out that I had been sneaking out, so in order to keep me from doing so they initiated a lock down at night. They put bars on my window and had my door lock from the outside. I was stuck lighting sink fires once again. There was no more powerful or excited feeling when I lit those. They were too controlled, as I could end them whenever I wanted. I needed the fire to be more excited, but I had to deal with that.

Lockdown went for a year and was very hard to deal with. I started pacing back and firth and burning spots on my carpet. It gave me more excitement that sink fires. I started doing very poorly in school and was burning every assignment I actually did.

Every night I dreamt of fire. Some nights I stayed up and burnt anything I could get my hands on. I was thinking the flames in my mind would die out and I would get bored with fire eventually, but unfortunately, for me, that never happened. It was as if I was fighting fire with fire. The flames eventually grew to the point where I could not handle them anymore.

Entry 5

I really wanted to stop, so I tried and tried to help myself. I didn't want to tell anyone else. I was afraid. Afraid of I has become. Afraid of what they would think me. Afraid of what was in store. Really afraid of everything about my life. I told myself that I would get better, and for a while I was. I didn't have as many urges, and I controlled those that I had. I went from setting dozens if fires to burning paper a few times a day. It took a while but it was well worth it.

My grades were so much better. I was starting to actually enjoy life. Everything was going right in my life. I had never been happier. It got to a point where I could go several days without burning, but that all quickly changed.

The urges came back stronger than ever. I didn't know why they were back. I thought I has kicked the habit. I thought I was better, but I has thought wrong. I started burning things. Anything. Anywhere. It didn't matter what it was. As long at it got burnt I was happy. Or so I thought. I was happy before these new urges. These urges were different. They were malicious. So strong too. I couldn't control them no matter how hard I tried.

I do not remember throwing things around in the kitchen. Or starting fires all over. Everything in my way got burnt, and I don't remember a thing. The only thing I remember is staring in amazement at a huge fire ball on top of my stove and being dragged out of the house.



This was the second part of the project. Five journal entries that someone with pyromania might write. I know it's pretty long.