The Girl in 6E

No one is normal. Everyone is just pretending to be normal.

Pity is a bitch I’d like to avoid.

Hope, in general, is dangerous. Hope can be the loose thread that pulls apart your sanity.

I don’t mind being killer-crazy, but I don’t want to be loony-bin-crazy. That would probably be bad for business—a bit of a turnoff.

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

Others letting you down is ice cream and cookies compared with the rejection of your own soul. I don’t know what is sadder, expecting myself to fail or being too scared to dream of success.

A child is the quickest to trust because they have no concept of the depravity of our species.

Disappointment in others is tough. But disappointment in yourself is far worse.

They believe what they see, because they want to believe. They want to believe that I am normal. And for the brief moments I am with them, I fool myself into thinking the same thing.

It’s funny how your mind will create an image of a person and how wrong your mind almost always is.

None of them really know the true me. I am who they want me to be, and they like it like that. So do I.

The first shrink I had said I have anthropophobia, which is fear of human interaction. Anthropophobia, mixed with an unhealthy dose of dacnomania, which is obsession with murder.

That wasn’t defense. That was fucking psychopath behavior. You were one step behind Hannibal Lecter with that shit.

I have imagined him in my mind for so long, my imagination creating a monster of grotesque features and proportions. But standing before me, his head tilted and eyes sharp, is just a man. Slightly balding, twenty pounds too heavy, whose mouth is turning into a sneer. Whose eyes are narrowing, stance strong, the combined effect sinister. This man, this balding thick man, has whispered in my ear, poured out the disgusting thoughts in his soul, showed me the dark evil in his heart. And now he is stepping closer, the excitement radiating from his body like a foul smell. He thinks I am weak. He thinks he can manipulate me and subdue me. Kill me. He has no idea that my small frame and delicate features contain an evil that rivals his own. I finger the knife in my pocket and fight to keep a grin off my face. This is it. This is my time.

Thank God he woke up. His face was too beautiful to be mutilated.

I hate my former self; hate her selfishness and her lack of appreciation for her perfect suburban life. I had everything in the palm of my perfect, lazy hand and didn’t even realize it.

AGEPLAY: A form of role-playing in which an individual acts or treats another as if they were a different age. Ageplay is between adults and involves consent from all parties. Typically, ageplay involves someone pretending to be younger than they actually are.6 Ageplay can have sexual tones but is not considered to be pedophilia, though it can involve role-playing of a child-adult relationship (such as a daddy’s girl scenario).

Maybe there is a chance for happiness after all, despite my online slutdom and psychopathic urges.

Would I like to run free through life, have friends, fall in love, feel the sun on my face? Yes. But that is no longer an option for me; there is no point in dwelling on and torturing myself over it.

Killer: yes. Exploiter of secrets: no.

I’ve taken those drugs, and I don’t want the life they would bring. To have a free body but a caged mind? To stumble through the world in a zombielike state, never feeling anything, never conscious enough to really know anyone? I’d rather live my life as it is. Where I experience everything, even the horrific fantasies of my psychotic mind.

Then he drove home, to an expectant wife and a warm dinner. And he realized, with shock, that he felt no guilt. That the fantasies he’d been harboring his entire life had finally been satisfied without any negative side effects.

That part is kind of fuzzy, because then I went all Xena Warrior Princess on his ass.

Full of innocence, full of hope. It is almost a shame to destroy that. The sweetness never stays long. It is destroyed quickly, replaced with tears and fear. It is sad that he now connects that fear with the experience, has grown to enjoy it on a level almost equal to the innocence.

Children are the quickest to trust because they have no concept of the depravity of our species.

Normal people open their doors. People who have something to hide keep them closed.

But if done correctly, stripping can be the ultimate foreplay, a sexual seduction that can wipe clear any rational thoughts and leave a man totally and utterly at your mercy.

From my doorside seat, I hear the fights, the secret phone conversations, and the everyday normalcy that gives away so much about a person. Simon was, for a long time, “the Brown-Haired Smoker.” I keep a notebook next to the door, in the cardboard box.