The last thing I want to do is glorify a person who savagely murdered six people by reading and sharing Elliot Rodger’s “manifesto.” But it turns out the 137 page document the NY Times released is less of a manifesto, which is a public declaration of policy and principles, and more of an autobiography or memoir. While he certainly espouses violently sexist and racist vitriol throughout and the last few pages are devoted to his ideas for creating an ideal world without women, and his intricate plans for what he deemed his Day Of Retribution, the vast majority of the document is a memoir of his twenty two years of life. And if we are to prevent things like this from happening in the future, perhaps an inquiry into the mind of the perpetrator is a good place to start.

I was personally taken with the story of Elliot Rodger because he hailed from my hometown of Woodland Hills, an upper-middle class enclave of white flight, good schools, and little league fields. This is not the first time someone from my old neighborhood has committed murder in Santa Barbara. In fact, in his memoir Elliot describes (more than once) his admiration for the film Alpha Dog, which was based on the Nick Markowitz murder in 2000. The man who pulled that particular trigger sat next to me in freshman Spanish class.

I didn’t mean to read the entire memoir, but it turned out that is how I spent my morning. I was drawn in when I discovered that Elliot attended Farm School, the same pre-school I went to. He went to Pinecrest, Crespi, Taft High School, and eventually Pierce College and Moorpark College. He bleached his hair blonde in an effort to be popular. He bought skateboards from Val Surf on Ventura. He frequented the Calabasas Commons. These are all associations that I have with the majority of my childhood friends and even with myself.

What follows is a story of a socially anxious, highly sensitive, and intense boy who would obsess over money and women as the means for acceptance. When he finally evolves into a young man, his feelings of being socially stunted would haunt his every waking moment as would his perverted objectification of women, whom he saw as carrying the primary blame for his misery.

Elliot Rodger had trouble making friends in middle school. He felt envious of boys who had popularity and girlfriends and simply felt different. His parents divorced, his dad remained wealthy and began another relationship. Elliot was mocked when his private school friends found out his mother lived in a “poor” neighborhood of Canoga Park. He tried to regain their favor by bragging about his father’s expensive home. He made the connection early on that wealth is inexorably bound to acceptance.

He discovered World Of Warcraft. This, in no small way, according the memoir, would be a major source of escape for Elliot during his teenage years.

He tried to make friends in High School but his social anxiety mounted on top of low confidence and even lower self esteem. He became enraged when he found out other boys his age claimed they were having sex. Their claims made him feel worthless since he was still a virgin and wasn’t even sure how to talk to a girl. Rather than acting out, as some teens do, Elliot directed his rage inward.

He sought comfort playing hours and hours of World Of Warcraft.

The students at Crespi High were wealthy and Elliot felt inferior, he had trouble making friends. So his parents transferred him to Taft. The students at Taft bullied him his first week. His parents allowed him to enroll in continuation high school where he went to school for a few hours in the morning and he’d spend the rest of the day playing World of Warcraft.

He played a lot of World of Warcraft.

By the time he graduated he was living with his mother with no plans for the future and no real set of social skills. Here is where the story starts to take a bit further of a turn.

He enrolled in classes at Pierce Community College but eventually switched to Moorpark. According to his memoir, this is when he truly began to sense a discrepancy between himself and his peers. He loathed seeing happy couples. He couldn’t grasp why others had such an easy time socializing. He writes extensively about happy couples, obsessing specifically about “hot blonde women” who never seem to notice him.

His mother briefly dated a very wealthy man who owned more than one mansion. Elliot pleaded with his mother to marry him. He longed to be in a wealthy family because he thought it would bring him popularity, and by extension, women. His mother told him she had no plans to marry again.

After a couple years of casually taking classes at community college in the Valley, living with his mother, and playing World of Warcraft, his parents presented the idea of moving him out of the house, as would befit a twenty year old man. They brought up the idea of Santa Barbara, where he’d be able to socialize with other students and take classes and live on his own.

Elliot liked this idea. His immediate association with Santa Barbara in the memoir is of the film Alpha Dog, which depicted parties and sex in Isla Vista. His parents moved him into an apartment in Isla Vista where he discovered that none of his housemates were virgins. Again, he felt very ashamed, he went into his room and cried.

He took classes at SBCC. He describes the confidence he felt wearing designer clothes to his first day of classes, assured that people would talk to him because of the way he looked. But his efforts never paid off in the way he’d envisioned them.

He’d get drunk and walk Del Playa Street, the main drag where house parties are plentiful, summoning the courage to approach people. Occasionally the courage came, though connections rarely followed, and almost never with women.

He’d develop a fixation over a girl in his class and when he discovered she had a boyfriend or if she simply didn’t seem to notice him, Elliot would drop the class, unwilling to face that “rejection” every day.

It’s worth noting that Elliot rarely approached these girls with conversation. Instead, he’d dress the way he thought he should dress, or place himself strategically so *they* could strike up a conversation with him. Elliot was an introvert, by all accounts, and extraordinarily sensitive. The one time he did risk a “Hello” to a passing girl he found attractive and she ignored the gesture entirely, he went to a bathroom stall and cried for an hour.

Things go south from here. And quickly.

He’d stopped going to classes. His first year in Santa Barbara had not yielded sex or even the remote promise of sex, which was the whole reason he wanted to move to Santa Barbara. As a virgin, Elliot felt he could not be respected. And by correlation, he writes, he could not be a part of humanity.

So he changed his game plan. Money. He concocted a plan to win the MegaMillions jackpot of 200 Million. He reasoned that if he became a millionaire his life would instantly improve. He spent a hundred dollars on tickets to win the 200 Million and then lost. When the jackpot reached 290 Million, he spent 400 dollars, then lost again. When the jackpot reached 363 Million he spent another 500 dollars. When the jackpot reached 663 Million he believed so strongly that this time he’d win. He spent another 700 dollars on that jackpot. He meditated in his room, reciting a mantra, trying to manifest his win. Then he lost. Again.

He sank into, what he describes as, the deepest depression of his life.

Then he learned about the Powerball Lottery, which hadn’t come to California yet. After obsessing over another couple in Isla Vista, he had a revelation that the *only* way he’ll ever get a “tall, blonde, sexy” girlfriend, and so sex, and so respect, and so membership to humanity, was if he was a multi-millionaire. He had that revelation at midnight. The drawing for the Arizona Powerball was the next day with a jackpot of 500 Million. He drove all the way from Isla Vista to Arizona in an all night blitz to get a ticket. He described the beautiful desert sunrise as an omen for his impending success.

“When I saw the sun creeping up before me in the horizon, igniting the clouds with its orange glow, I proclaimed that sunrise as the sunrise of my destiny, to obtain the record breaking Powerball ticket of $500 Million…”

He goes on.

“Once I’d won it, I’d be able to have my beautiful blonde girlfriend, I’d be able to show the world that girls consider me worthy, I’d be able to show the world how superior I am. And of course, I’d be able to live above everyone who has wronged me, and rub it all in their faces as a form of gratifying vengeance. This was my ultimate purpose in life. My reason for living.”

He didn’t win.

He’d make that same drive to Arizona three more times before the Powerball finally came to California.

His perverted notions of self worth were inexorably bound to further perverted ideas of money and women. He had little understanding or experience with either. He also saw both as things he deserved. The operative word in that sentence being “things.” To Elliot, women were things.

His meager attempts at connection went unnoticed, which led to more social anxiety and deflated confidence. Association with men reminded him of how stunted he felt, which led to self-loathing, which led to the blame he directed at the objects of his obsession: the women he’d spent years objectifying who now walked the streets of Isla Vista.

He drew disturbing conclusions about women. He saw them as flawed for not noticing him. He felt that being a 21 year old “kissless virgin” the hell in which he lived was primarily their fault. Notions of punishing them crossed his diary, whose pages he tore out for fear someone would find them. But the Day Of Retribution formed in his mind.

He gave a last ditch effort to live an enjoyable college life just before his 22nd birthday. He got drunk, because he was too nervous to be sober, and went into a house party. He did not find the kind of attention he had hoped for and so Elliot started a confrontation where he pretended to “shoot” everyone. Then Elliot tried to push several people off of a ten foot ledge. This incited a few party goers to beat the shit out of him.

When he stumbled home, bloody and bruised, he realized that his beloved Gucci sunglasses and gold necklace his grandmother gave him had been stolen in the fight. He called his sister and cried. The final straw had fallen.

The date of his massacre was postponed several times for various reasons. In that time, he still made cries for help. His parents sought a psychiatrist who prescribed him Risperidone, which Elliot refused to take. A few counsellors were hired to help him with social skills. Elliot only really warmed to one, who was a blonde woman. But Elliot also felt miserable that the only female contact he’d been able to make was one that had been hired. None of the counsellors worked out.

He purchased handguns. He needed three “in case one jammed.” In his original plot, Elliot was going to kill his younger step-brother who he thought would grow up and be more powerful than him. He’d also plotted to murder his step-mother, though he wanted to do it while his father was out of town, he couldn’t bear the thought of killing his father.

Next he’d lure people to his apartment where he’d torture, skin, and flay them alive until they died. Then he’d enter the Alpha Phi sorority house at 9pm, slaughter everyone inside, and burn the place if he had time. Then he wanted to shoot up a house party and run people over on Del Playa with his car. At last, he’d find a suitable place to swallow enough Vicodin and Xanex with hard liquor, put two handguns to his head and pull the triggers. If the bullets didn’t do the trick, the pills would. He didn’t want to see prison.

He’d uploaded a few YouTube videos in the weeks before the shooting. They expressed his views and feelings about the world. He planned to release the final one moments before the event. He admits he hoped the videos might garner some sympathy from someone. He hoped that someone would be a woman. The videos got no such response.

Instead, the videos prompted a visit from the police at his door. Allegedly, his mother made the phone call to the authorities, though she denies it. Elliot was terrified that they’d find his writings and his weapons. But he convinced the police it was a misunderstanding. He took the YouTube videos down.

Finally, the night of May 23rd, he uploaded the final video and emailed his parents his manifesto. They drove north quickly to stop the shooting. But they were too late.

But even in the final months before the shooting, Elliot describes in his memoir “a twinge of hope inside” of him that “never faded.” He calls it a “tiny flickering flame of a candle in a dark room” that prompted him to attend his spring semester classes, in hopes that something would change and he wouldn’t have to go through with his plot. Unfortunately, what Elliot thought would turn him around was a blatant offer of sex from a woman he desired. He didn’t understand two things. One, that isn’t the way the world nor women work. Two, even if it happened the way he imagined, it probably wouldn’t have helped.

Yet, I like to think that the next shooter (because, let’s be honest here, he, and it’s most certainly a “he”, is incubating plans for the next shooting right this moment) harbors that same flame. That the flame, even beyond what may otherwise be considered a point of no return, can be stoked and brought back to life.