I want to do some truly terrible things. I don’t think they’re ever going to actually happen. But just the awareness of that side of myself leaves me feeling afraid, and isolated from others. I’m the bad guy in everyone’s else’s story.
I suppose it’s because although I’m a bad person, I’m not a psychopath. So I still crave social acceptance & safety, even though I know I can’t have it. Awareness of the immorality of my desires terrifies me, because it’s a reminder that everyone is a threat. Anyone who saw the truth about me would pose an unacceptable risk. Essentially I’ve made myself an enemy of humanity.
So I have to isolate myself. But that carries it’s own fears. We’re tribal creatures – the lone wolf doesn’t live long.
I’m terrified of something beyond death – of judgement. Of the evil within my mind finally being laid bare for all to see. Of punishment. That seems like the only real reason not to end myself, beyond just a blind will to survive.
I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I’m a monster who’s failing to live out it’s impulses. A cowardly monster. This should be the bit in the story where I escalate my crimes, and the authorities finally track me down. Instead I’m just hiding, waiting, fantasizing, pretending to be normal. My past could still easily catch up with me, but until then…what? Realistically, I’m not going to reform, or suddenly see the error of my ways. It’s gone far too deep in my head for that. So I’m just waiting for the end – for the world to tear my life from my hands, and force me to face death.