Hey guys welcome back to crimsonshed. Today i gonna write a article but novel kind article where i want to share my own thoughts about a psychology of a criminal. Why they choose the path of crime.
so read the complete article and share your suggestions, thoughts about this article.
Chapter 1: The Weight of Silence
The darkness didn’t scare me.
You know, I think most people would assume that the night is when the bad things happen, right? It’s when the shadows creep in, and the silence becomes too loud. But for me, it was always the opposite. The night was when everything felt… calm. When I could breathe.
The world never made sense to me, not in the way it made sense to others. They talk about their dreams, their futures, their families. Me? I never got that. It wasn’t real. There were too many lies, too many rules that no one could follow, and too many people who thought they knew everything about right and wrong. It was laughable, really. They never asked why people like me did what we did. They just assumed. They always assumed we were born broken.
But I wasn’t broken. I was just… misunderstood.
I never wanted to hurt anyone. Well, not at first. It started small. Little things that made me feel powerful when everything around me was out of my control. They didn’t know that—didn’t know how fragile I was inside. To them, I was just another face in the crowd. Another criminal, another person who got swept under the rug.
I remember my first real crime. Funny how people don’t often talk about the first time they cross that line. It’s like they forget what it feels like—how your heart races, how the world seems to tilt sideways, like you’re living in a dream you can’t wake up from. I didn’t even plan it. I just… acted. Impulsively. He had no idea who I was. Just some guy, sitting at that coffee shop, looking at his phone, too wrapped up in his own little bubble to notice me.
It was almost easy, you know? Too easy. He had his back turned. I walked up, close enough to feel his breath. His coffee spilled, and the noise of the cup hitting the floor felt like the entire world breaking apart. It didn’t even take much. A quick push, and he was down.
Everyone in the shop froze, staring at me like I was the monster. But that’s the thing—they didn’t see. They didn’t see the years of fear, of isolation, of being told to shut up and follow the rules. They didn’t know what it felt like when your own mind is a prison, and all you want is to escape.
It wasn’t the crime itself that thrilled me. It was the feeling afterward. The silence. The power to make people feel what I felt every damn day.
They caught me, eventually. Of course, they did. But it wasn’t the punishment that scared me. It was the way they tried to understand me. Like they could put me in a box and label me as a “criminal.” No one asked why I did it. No one cared about the years of shit that led up to that one moment. They only cared about how to punish me.
Interactive Reflection #1: Do you think it’s possible to truly understand why a person commits a crime? Or do we only focus on the outcome and ignore the reasons that pushed them?
Chapter 2: Inside the Cage
The walls of the cell were closing in on me, not because they were physical, but because of what they represented. I could hear the distant voices from the outside, the echo of life continuing without me. But inside, it was just… me. My mind. The one thing no one could control.
They tried to break me. They tried the usual—psychologists, counselors, group therapy sessions. They tried to label me: sociopath, psychopath, antisocial. It all felt like nonsense to me. Labels. Just words meant to make me seem like an animal. But I was no animal. I understood things. I understood people, more than they realized.
You know, when you live like I did, you learn how to read people. It’s not that hard, really. People are predictable. They always say one thing, but they do something else. They pretend to be good, but deep down, we all know that everyone has darkness inside of them. The difference is that some of us act on it, and others pretend it’s not there.
Take the guards, for example. They were just doing their job, right? But I could see the fear in their eyes when they looked at me. It wasn’t respect. It was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear that I was different. And that’s what made me dangerous. I wasn’t like them. I didn’t need approval. I didn’t need to follow the rules.
I’d watch the others in the yard, see them laughing and talking, pretending to be “normal.” And I’d wonder—did they know? Did they know that all of us were just one step away from crossing that line? Some of them had done worse things than me, but they were still considered “good.” They had families, jobs, the whole damn act. But me? I was the “bad guy,” the one they could point to when they wanted to show how things went wrong.
Interactive Reflection #2: What do you think is scarier: the person who admits their darkness, or the person who hides it behind a mask of “normalcy”?
Chapter 3: The Breaking Point
It was late one night when I realized something important—something that would change everything.
I wasn’t like them. And that was okay.
I wasn’t just a criminal. I wasn’t some broken thing that society could throw away. I had a purpose. I had a reason for what I did, even if no one else could see it. I wasn’t sorry for what happened. I was sorry I got caught. Because it wasn’t about the crime—it was about what I didn’t do. I didn’t play the game like everyone else.
The truth is, I’ve never been a “criminal” in the way they think. I didn’t do it for the thrill or the money. I did it because, in that moment, I was free. I was free from the chains that had kept me in line. The same chains that everyone else was trapped by.
So, here I am. A person caught between the bars of society’s judgments and my own desires. But I’m still alive. And I’ll stay that way. Because, unlike most people, I know how to survive. And survival is the greatest power anyone can hold.
Interactive Reflection #3: Is freedom something we’re born with, or is it something we have to take for ourselves?
Chapter 4: The Reflection of a Broken Heart
They called it “rehabilitation,” but I never bought into it. Not the way they made it sound. As if sitting in a room with some psychologist who barely knew the meaning of pain could fix what was inside me. How could they fix something that had been broken for so long?
I remember one session, one of the first ones. The psychologist, Dr. Kaur, a woman with kind eyes and a soft voice, asked me the usual question. “Tell me about your childhood, Priya. What was your family like?”
My answer was simple, maybe too simple. “They were like everyone else’s.”
But that wasn’t the truth, was it?
“It’s not the past that makes us who we are. It’s the way we respond to it.”
That’s what I told myself, over and over, like some mantra that kept me sane. I had learned early on that my past didn’t define me. The scars didn’t define me. The betrayal, the loneliness, the pressure—it didn’t define me.
I remember the look Dr. Kaur gave me when I refused to open up, that soft, understanding gaze that made me want to scream. She thought I was closed off, defensive. But the truth was, I was scared. Scared that if I spoke, I’d break into pieces. And I couldn’t afford to do that. Not now.
But she didn’t know—no one knew.
Chapter 5: The Truth Beneath the Surface
Sometimes, I wonder if people understand what it feels like to walk through life with a weight so heavy that you can’t even remember what it feels like to stand up straight. “We all wear masks,” I once heard someone say. But not all masks are the same.
Some of us wear masks of anger, others wear masks of happiness, and some wear masks of silence.
Mine? I wore the mask of indifference. I learned early on that it was safer that way—because the world doesn’t care. It never does. You’re just one more face in the crowd, one more story that gets buried under someone else’s. No one asks how you feel; they just expect you to fit in.
I remember my father, his face twisted with disappointment the first time he caught me in a lie. He said, “Lies will only bring you down, Priya.” He never saw the truth behind my lies. He never saw that I lied to protect myself.
But that night, when I stood in front of that mirror, staring at the face I didn’t recognize, I saw the truth for the first time. I didn’t want to be this person. I didn’t want to carry this darkness. But the more I fought it, the more it consumed me.
“We are not defined by what we do in the darkest of hours; we are defined by what we choose in the light.” I read that somewhere, and it stuck with me. I wanted to believe it. But how do you choose the light when it feels like the darkness has already swallowed you whole?
Chapter 6: The Power of Choice
The thing about power is, it’s an illusion. They think they have it because they make the rules. The cops. The judges. Society. But the truth is, power isn’t in the law—it’s in choice.
Every day, we make choices. Some big, some small. But every single one of those choices leaves a mark. Some marks are visible, like the scar on my wrist from where I tried to escape my own mind. Others? Invisible. But they all build who we are. They shape us.
“We are nothing more than the sum of the choices we make,” I once read, and it stuck in my head. A simple statement, but it felt like a burden I couldn’t carry.
That’s the thing about crimes—they don’t just happen. They are built, piece by piece, until one day, you can’t remember what made you cross the line. It’s like stepping into a river. At first, the current is gentle, easy. But the longer you stand in it, the stronger it gets. And when you look up, you’re too far from shore to go back.
Chapter 7: The Breaking Point (Cont’d)
By the time the guards came to get me for another session, my mind had already drifted to a place I didn’t want to go. But there was no stopping it now.
I sat down in front of Dr. Kaur, and she asked the same question again, that same calm voice trying to pull the truth from me. “Priya, what are you afraid of?”
Afraid? “What am I afraid of?”
“What I am afraid of is losing control,” I whispered. But I wasn’t sure if it was her I was answering, or if I was answering myself.
She didn’t say anything, just waited. Her pen hovered over her notebook.
“I’m afraid of being forgotten.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, but they felt like a confession, a piece of my soul laid bare. “I’m afraid that one day, I’ll be nothing but a shadow, a name on a file, another criminal. Forgotten.”
Her eyes softened, but there was something else in them—something I had never expected. “Priya, you’re not just your past. You have the power to choose who you are in this moment.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her. But in that moment, I realized something. I had never really chosen who I was. I had always been pushed into a role, into a box, and I had accepted it because I thought I had no other option.
“You can’t run away from who you are, but you can choose how you move forward.” Her voice lingered in the air, hanging between us.
Interactive Reflection #4: Do you think someone can truly change, or do the choices they’ve made define them forever? Can anyone escape their past?
Chapter 8: The Weight of Redemption
After that day, something shifted inside me. I don’t know if it was hope or desperation, but it was a change. Small, but significant. I began to see the possibility of redemption, even if it was just a flicker.
It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty. Every day was a battle between the darkness in my mind and the desire to be something more. But for the first time in years, I was fighting for something other than survival.
“Sometimes, the hardest thing about redemption is believing you deserve it.”
I’m not sure if I deserve it, but I’m trying. Every choice, every moment, I’m trying to carve out a piece of light in this darkness. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’m too far gone. But if there’s even a chance to change, to live beyond this broken shell—I’ll take it.
Interactive Reflection #5:
What would it take for someone to forgive themselves for their darkest moments? Can forgiveness ever truly heal someone?
Chapter 9: The Weight of Regret
Regret is a funny thing.
You don’t realize how much it weighs until you’re forced to carry it. It’s like a boulder that you keep trying to push, but it just won’t budge. It’s the moment when the silence is deafening, when the memories hit you in waves, and you’re drowning in them, wishing you could forget, wishing you could turn back time.
I thought I had done everything right. I thought that if I just followed the rules, if I just stayed quiet and did what was expected of me, everything would be fine. But it wasn’t fine. It never was. And now, here I am, living in the shadow of a past I can’t erase.
I remember his face—the way his eyes widened in shock as he hit the ground. I never meant for it to go that far, but sometimes… things just spiral out of control. You can never really predict how the world will break when you make a single crack in it.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to push the memory away. But it’s always there, lurking in the corners of my mind. “You’re not who you think you are,” the voice in my head whispers. “You’re just a liar. A coward. A killer.”
I try to drown it out with my thoughts, but it’s no use. I can’t escape it.
Chapter 10: The Taste of Guilt
There’s something about guilt that eats you alive from the inside out. It doesn’t just go away, no matter how hard you try to hide it. You think you can bury it under layers of anger or indifference, but it always finds its way to the surface. It claws at you, digging deep until you can’t breathe without feeling its weight.
I’ve tried to numb it. Drinking. Smoking. Anything to drown the voices in my head. But nothing works. The guilt is like a hunger that can’t be satisfied, a craving that grows stronger with every day.
The worst part? I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to make it right. “Can you ever make it right?” I ask myself, over and over. But the answer is always the same: No.
I was in control, once. I made the choices. But now, it feels like the choices made me. They twisted me, reshaped me into someone I don’t recognize. It wasn’t just one mistake—it was a series of them, stacking up like dominoes until everything came crashing down. And every time I look back, I feel the weight of each fall.
Chapter 11: A Silent Scream
I often wonder what it would be like to scream. Not just scream out loud, but to let out all the pain that has been bottled up inside me. To release all the fear, all the anger, all the sadness, until it’s gone. But I know I can’t. I’ve been holding it in for so long that it’s become a part of me.
Sometimes, when the darkness creeps in at night, I close my eyes and imagine screaming. I imagine it echoing through the walls, through the entire world, until the noise drowns everything out. Maybe then, the guilt would be gone. Maybe then, I would feel lighter.
But what if the scream never stops? What if the silence that follows isn’t peace, but a deeper emptiness? “You’re already lost,” the voice in my head says again. “Screaming won’t save you.”
And the worst part? I believe it.
Chapter 12: The Hope You Can’t Reach
There are days when I think maybe I could change. That maybe I could stop pretending to be someone I’m not. Maybe I could apologize, try to make amends, try to find something—anything—to fill the hole inside me.
But then I look around, and I see the people in my life who are just moving forward. They go to work, they go home, they laugh with their families. And I wonder, “Do they know how easy it is to destroy everything?”
I had the chance to be one of them. I could’ve been someone else. I could’ve made different choices. “If I had just done things differently, maybe…”
But it’s too late for that. The road I chose has already been paved, and now I’m stuck walking down it, step by step, until I reach the end.
But still, there’s a flicker of something. Something small. A glimmer of hope that I can still change, that I can still find a way to get out of this cage I’ve built for myself. The road may be dark, and the way forward unclear, but maybe… maybe there’s still a chance.
Interactive Reflection #6: Do you think people who’ve made mistakes can truly change, or are they forever defined by their past actions? What does it take to rebuild after you’ve torn everything apart?
Chapter 13: The Quiet Inside the Storm
It’s strange, isn’t it? How you can be surrounded by so much noise, yet still feel so alone. The world is chaotic—full of chaos and anger and noise. But the quiet? The quiet inside my head, that’s the loudest of all.
I’ve been sitting in my cell, listening to the sound of my heartbeat, the only thing that feels real anymore. The walls don’t matter. The bars don’t matter. It’s the silence that gets to me. It’s like I’m constantly chasing something that I can never quite reach. Some version of myself I’ll never find.
“I thought if I ran fast enough, the storm inside me would pass. But it doesn’t. It just follows. It always follows.”
Maybe that’s the point, right? The storm never really ends. You just learn to live with it. To carry the noise with you, and make your peace with it.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be “free.” I don’t know if I’ll ever make it out of here, or if I do, what I’ll even be. But one thing’s for sure: I won’t stop trying. Because maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to silence the storm.
And even if I never find it, I’m still searching.
Interactive Reflection #7: When you can’t escape the noise in your own mind, how do you find peace? Is it possible to find peace within yourself after you’ve done something you regret?
Chapter 14: The Final Step
Time doesn’t heal wounds. It doesn’t erase the past or the pain. But it does give you something: distance. Time allows you to look at things with a clearer mind, to see things you couldn’t see when you were in the middle of the storm.
I’m not sure what comes next. Maybe I’ll always be stuck in this cage. Maybe I’ll never escape the guilt. But I’ve learned something important along the way: “You can’t change the past, but you can choose what to do with the present.”
And that’s where the real challenge lies.
The Seeds of Darkness: How a Criminal’s Mind is Formed
Chapter 15: The Unseen Wounds
There’s a point in every criminal’s life where the switch flips. It doesn’t happen overnight; it’s not a sudden decision. No one wakes up one day and says, “I’m going to break the law today.” It’s much more subtle than that.
It begins when a person’s basic needs, those core parts of human existence—love, safety, respect—are neglected or stolen from them. You take a child who grows up in an abusive household, or a teenager who’s constantly told that they’ll never amount to anything. What do you think happens to their self-worth? It crumbles, little by little. They learn early on that the world is a cold place, that people hurt you when you show vulnerability. They don’t just learn it—they live it.
When I think back on my own life, I see those moments in a new light. The moments where trust was broken. The moments where I was made to feel small, less than, unworthy. The truth is, I didn’t stand a chance from the very beginning. “A seed of hatred, once planted, grows like a vine, strangling everything it touches.”
The Psychology of Pain: How Trauma is Internalized
When a child is repeatedly told they’re worthless, when they grow up seeing only anger and disappointment in the faces of those who are supposed to love them, something happens.
At first, it’s like a bruise you can’t see. It’s invisible, festering, growing underneath the skin. You try to ignore it, pretend it’s not there, but over time, the pain becomes unbearable. And when it becomes unbearable, it manifests in strange, unpredictable ways.
People don’t realize how trauma changes the way a person views the world. “Pain has a way of distorting reality. It teaches you that survival is the only thing that matters, even if it means hurting others.” That’s the first lesson I learned: survival above all.
In my case, I thought I was invincible. For a while, I believed that my anger made me untouchable, that being hard and cold was the only way to protect myself from the world’s cruelty. But in reality, it was just a defense mechanism, a way to prevent the world from tearing me apart.
The Hunger for Control: The Search for Power
But when does it cross the line? When does someone go from being a victim of their circumstances to becoming the perpetrator? That line is thin, barely noticeable, and for many, it blurs into oblivion. I’ll be honest with you—there was a time I relished the idea of power.
I was always told I was weak, that I didn’t have control over my own life. And the more I heard it, the more I believed it. There’s a point in every vulnerable person’s life where they want nothing more than to prove the world wrong. They want to take back control, to show that they matter, that they have power over their own fate.
I started small, testing boundaries, pushing limits. First, it was little things, like lying to avoid punishment or stealing something insignificant just to see if I could get away with it. But the thrill of control—of being the one in charge—was intoxicating. “The moment you feel in control, you feel alive, like nothing and no one can hurt you.”
As that feeling grew, so did the desperation. I wanted more power. More control. And then, I realized that if I could take power from others, if I could make them feel as small as I had felt all my life, then maybe, just maybe, I would finally be seen.
The Spiral: Justifying the Unthinkable
The deeper you go into this mindset, the harder it is to come back. It’s like being trapped in a spiral, each turn taking you further down. At first, I justified everything I did. I convinced myself that my actions were necessary. They were self-preservation, after all, right? “The world never gave me a chance, so I’ll take what I want. I’ll do what I need to survive.”
But it wasn’t just about survival anymore. It became about control—about owning the moment. I remember the first time I truly hurt someone. It wasn’t just physical pain I inflicted, but emotional destruction, a deep, dark satisfaction I felt watching someone break.
The mind of a criminal is a dangerous thing because it builds its own logic. It convinces itself that the wrongs are somehow justified. “I’m not the bad one here. They made me this way.” It becomes an almost perfect circle of rationalization, each part feeding into the next until the point of no return is crossed.
And then, you start believing your own lies. You begin to think, “I don’t feel bad for them. I feel powerful.”
The Isolation: Living in a World You Can’t Trust
The real problem with becoming a criminal—truly embracing the role—is that you start to isolate yourself. The world becomes a dangerous place. The people you once loved, the people who once cared for you, are now just obstacles, tools to use, or enemies to defeat.
It’s strange how isolation can become a comfort. You build walls around yourself so high that even you can’t get out. The more you hurt others, the more you convince yourself that this is the only way to live. “People are weak. They betray you. They don’t understand what it’s like to be strong.”
But what you don’t realize until it’s too late is that you’ve already lost everything. The pain you’ve been running from for so long? It’s still there, gnawing at your insides, but now it’s mixed with guilt, confusion, and loneliness. “You may think you have power, but it’s only an illusion. In the end, you’re just as trapped as the people you hurt.”
The Final Realization: The Price of Power
It’s only when everything falls apart that you begin to understand the cost of your choices. I always thought I could control my destiny, that I could manipulate every situation to my advantage. But in the end, I was the one who was controlled.
The mind of a criminal is a complicated thing—it’s born from pain, twisted by fear, and fueled by an overwhelming need for control. But in the end, it’s a hollow existence. The power you think you have is an illusion, and the emptiness you feel inside is your punishment.
I’m left here now, looking back on it all, trying to make sense of the choices I’ve made, the pain I’ve caused. And the one thing that haunts me more than anything is this: “What if I could’ve chosen differently?”
Interactive Reflection #8: Do you think people are born with the potential for darkness, or is it the world around them that shapes their path? Can someone truly break free from the chains of their past and change?
Final Chapter: A Message for Change
Thank you for your time, for your attention, and for allowing me to share this story with you. But more than that, thank you for taking a moment to step into the shoes of someone who has been shaped by pain, by mistakes, by choices that seemed necessary at the time.
I want to leave you with a simple truth: No one is born a criminal. No one is born with evil in their heart. We all start with the same innocence, the same potential, the same capacity for love. It is the world around us, the circumstances we face, the struggles we endure, that twist us, that change the way we see ourselves and the world.
It doesn’t excuse the harm people cause, but it begs for understanding. Understanding that those who hurt, hurt because they have been hurt. That those who lash out, lash out because the world they were born into taught them to fight for their survival in the most destructive ways.
There are moments in life when the weight of pain becomes too much to carry. It’s in those moments that people make choices—choices that may forever change the course of their lives. But it doesn’t mean they are beyond redemption. We are not defined by our worst decisions, but by the strength we have to learn, to grow, and to change.
It’s easy to point fingers. It’s easy to say, “That person deserves what they’ve gotten.” We live in a world that rushes to judgment, that loves to see people fall. We love to feel superior, to push others down so we can feel a little higher. But in truth, the harshest judgments are often made by those who have never walked in the shoes of those they condemn.
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be abandoned, to be told you’re not enough, to have the very people who should protect you be the ones who hurt you? Have you ever felt the crushing weight of hopelessness, of believing that the world will never see you as anything more than a mistake? Those who have been broken are not bad. They are hurting. And sometimes, that pain is all-consuming.
But here’s the thing—people can change. It’s not easy, and it doesn’t happen instantly, but it is possible. Change comes when we choose to see others not for their worst actions, but for the broken, hurting people they are. Change comes when we stop defining people by their mistakes and start seeing them for who they truly are: humans, capable of both darkness and light.
We don’t have to agree with everything a person does. We don’t have to condone bad actions or ignore the damage done. But we do have to remember that every person has a story—one that shapes them, scars them, and sometimes, breaks them. And when we forget that, when we choose to turn our backs instead of offering a hand, we forget that the same pain that shapes a criminal can shape any one of us, if the circumstances are right.
This isn’t just about crime. It’s about compassion. It’s about seeing someone as a human being, not just the label society has placed on them. It’s about tearing down the walls of racism, hatred, and fear that keep us divided. We are all capable of being better, of being kinder, of giving second chances. And when we do that, we don’t just help others—we help ourselves.
So I ask this of you: Change your perspective. The next time you see someone, the next time you hear about a crime, before you judge, before you label, before you throw away your compassion, ask yourself: What brought them here? What made them this way? Is there pain they are hiding? Is there a part of them that longs for change, even if they don’t know how to find it?
Let’s stop rushing to condemn. Let’s stop closing our hearts to those who need us the most. Instead, let’s offer understanding, let’s offer hope. Because we all deserve a chance to heal, to grow, and to change. We all deserve the opportunity to rewrite our stories, even if we’ve made mistakes along the way. And in doing so, we may just start to heal the world around us, too.
I know that real change is difficult, but I also know it starts with a small shift—a change of heart. One by one, we can build a world where empathy trumps judgment, where understanding replaces hatred, and where no one is cast aside because of their mistakes.
Let’s choose to be better. For ourselves. For each other. And for the world we share.
Thank you.
