Suppose

Once in a while I am beset by mood and craving to have someone unto whom I can spill the entirety of my thoughts unfettered by the fear of repercussion. But in my pondering I am hampered by the dire reality that few are the possibilities of such an exposition. Not even the anonymity of the internet is a grace to such a situation as it is not the real you that is shown, but an immortal amoral self forever flaunting itself into the minds of those who are unfortunate enough to encounter it.

Suppose that I were to write that when I drive, I visualize increasing the speed of the vehicle and ramming my moving death trap into the barrier of a brick wall, the dark cloudy depths of a creek, or the immobile embrace of a tree. Suppose I wrote that oft times when I am new a person I visualize kissing them or killing them. Suppose I wrote that when I were in the kitchen each knife brings to mind the image of blood on my wrists, up my arm. Suppose I wrote of the scenarios lovingly crafted in my mind of wrapping a belt round my throat then slowly giving into the strident prickly embrace of asphyxia.Or suppose I wrote of the curious longing that threatens when I see a gun and the sensory fear of placing it appropriately for use.

Suppose further that I wrote of the dark moods and ease of anger that sporadically besets me. Or of the lethargy that consumes, a moment at a time, the joys of life.

Suppose further that I confessed to having no goals or aspirations in life beyond that of being a father and husband. Or of the dreams that settle in my mind like a gauze of reality. Or of the nightmares that reek of normalcy among the exotic and frightful.

Suppose, just suppose, as by now many suppose I just have, that I wrote all this. Forever and always anyone encountering it would offer condolences or sympathies, perhaps offer expressions like "been there" or "I feel the same", but worst is that the image of me would be sullied; not just now, but whenever this was encountered. Or if the person proved untrustworthy, then these private confidences would find themselves broadcast beyond my control.

So you see my dilemma.