I’m positive that there is something wrong with me mentally, and that scared me for a long time, but it doesn’t now. I’m not sure whether that should bother me or not. I had a s***** childhood, with an abusive father, an addict mother and a dependent younger sister, the whole shebang. My life has vastly improved, but I was never “normal” after my first family. Something had snapped in me at 4 years old and it might be dangerous. I always thought that my lack of emotion and then fits of rage were going to end up killing me or someone else, and it kept me up more nights than I’d care to remember. I’ve faked so many smiles that even I can’t tell the difference anymore and when I’m alone, I rip myself apart from the inside just to feel something. It doesn’t work, if you were wondering. I want to stab someone just to see what it feels like, watch someone utter their last shaky breath and watch their eyes go glassy. I always have and probably always will. But I don’t care about suppressing that anymore, or how the face I see in the mirror doesn’t always do the same tings I can feel my body doing. Is that wrong? Because giving up has never felt so right.