Am I a bad
person?
I don’t
mean in the way I senselessly murder anyone that crosses my path if the whim
takes me, leaving their families and loves one alone and unprepared to face the
harsh reality of a life without the one person they care most about in the
world. I mean in the way I treat people I actually care about like my husband
and son and one friend from work that I’ve grown attached to.
Heather has
been doing really well lately, she’s coming in to work on time, getting her work
done with only a playful amount of sassing. She and I still go for lunch every
once in a while and talk about how things are going. How she’s adjusting to
life on her own, how my family is doing, the constant uncertainty of existing
as a woman in this century. At least back in the day, you knew who hated you
because they would be the one lighting your pyre as you were burned as a witch.
Nowadays? Who knows? There are only two men in my life whom I trust and I still
believe Jason cold go either way with the amount of time he spends on the
internet and not interacting with other humans.
This is
what I was talking about with the “am I a bad person” stuff. I genuinely wonder
if my son is going to turn out to be some sort of woman-hating conspiracy
theorist – partially because my only context for young 20-somethings who live
at home is the media’s portrayal of serial killers. I know he is adamantly
against what I do and would never take up the family business but what if it’s
something worse? I kill indiscriminately. He could be a racist, or sexist, or
homophobe. I don’t know what I would do with myself if my child turned out
morally worse than me. Even Sandra didn’t really care who she killed so long as
her bloodlust was sated. I never worried that she was a bad person – just that
she would get caught.
With Jason,
I see a young man with lower than average social skills and a love of computers
more than nature and I wonder what dark thoughts he might have and act on one
day. But that makes me a bad person, doesn’t it? Believing my own son to be
less than perfect with no real evidence other than my own fears. That can’t be
right. I know it isn’t. But when you don’t connect with someone and all you see
is the outside, your mind wanders.
Thank god
he doesn’t read these. He would never forgive me. I know that for sure.
I can’t
think about things that just aren’t true. I can’t let my imagination take over
my common sense. I know my son. I know him to be loyal and intelligent and of independent
thought. He will be fine. Besides, he’s made his intentions known to move out
next year, he’s doing well in school, and has a job that might not be what he
wants to be doing but he enjoys it and is paid well for his work. He’s on the
right path. I have to trust that I haven’t fucked him up too much and he will,
in fact be alright.
Maybe I am
a bad person, on top of the morally decrepit murder I commit on a daily basis,
but at least my child will be okay. He’ll be better than me, even.
I hope.
As always,
dear readers,
Stay Safe
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