It’s not so much a guilt as it is a fear. A fear of myself. You see I did something bad when I was a teen. Almost really bad. I almost killed someone. On purpose. I secured a weapon on myself and began walking to the person’s house with it. But then when their innocent mother opened the door, reality hit me. I realized how insane I was being and that I was not a killer obviously. But years later, I sometimes still think, how close I was to being one of those psycho killers…is it in me? I hope not. It’s scary to think about though…
