I had a dream that I missed writing this week’s update. That’s
where I’m at, currently. I have stress dreams about not doing this completely
voluntary thing even though this is not the thing that should be causing me
stress.
Honestly, things are pretty good right now. I know it’s very
cliched to say that, because as soon as I do, something massive and
world-changing will happen like it’s the fifth season opener of a tv series no
one is entirely sure should be renewed for a sixth.
The calm before the shit storm.
But I mean it. Things aren’t amazing but they’re okay and
after last year, okay is exactly what I need. Casey is back at school and James
and I are committed to more date nights (though we had to make Casey swear that
she wouldn’t go out and kill anyone on those nights until she’s a little
older). She’s more than capable of looking after herself but there’s just too
many variables if we’re out and she goes off on her own without any backup. I
can do it because I’m stupid and I’ve been doing this a little bit longer than
her.
Longer than she’s been alive. I hate that thought.
My work at the bank is boring but keeps me occupied and
gives me a fairly steady schedule which, again, after my year, some stability
is ideal. I’m not thinking about the mystery woman, I’m not going to try and
reach out to Jason, no one knows Heather was with us when she went missing. The
three of us can move forward without fear of the past.
I’ve really jinxed it. Shit. Well, whatever hell I invite
upon myself, I know I’m not alone.
Which is why it felt so odd this morning to wake up with the
thought: I missed writing the update. I miss updates all the time. It’s my
blog, I could stop writing it any time I wanted to. After all: this is the most
damning evidence against me since I got rid of the diaries (though admittedly a
little harder to trace). It would probably be in my best interest to completely
erase any trace of my life from the internet.
But the truth is: I need this outlet. As much as I know some
of you enjoy reading my murderous exploits – and some of you still think it isn’t
real – I’m writing all of this for me. To be completely honest and open, to
share everything about my life knowing there’s no one else I can tell. I love
my husband but he doesn’t know what it’s like inside my head. The need to kill.
He’s seen it and he understands it, but he doesn’t comprehend what it’s
actually like to live in my head. Casey is like me. Her brain is hardwired to
take and to play. But she’s a fifteen-year-old-girl. It’s been a long time
since I was fifteen and there are some things we can never share because I am,
in essence, her mother.
I don’t want to call myself that. I was a mother to two
beautiful children who weren’t mine and as much as I loved them (and they loved
me), it ended in disaster. I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet, but that
doesn’t mean I don’t love Casey deeply. I’m just not ready to give my heart
away like that. Not yet.
The point is.
The point is, there are things I can’t share with the people
closest to me so I write it here, for you dear readers to peruse my mind. And
maybe you’ll see a bit of yourself in here and know that you’re not alone. Or maybe
you’ll convince yourself that this isn’t real and give in to your macabre
fantasies that you tell yourself you’d never act on.
But I know that every one of you have wondered what it would
be like to punch someone in the face for no reason. Staple someone’s eyelids
shut. Gut someone from noes to toes and drain them like you were preparing an
animal for feasting.
Most of you will never, ever know what it’s like to see the
light drain from a person’s eyes but I know for a fact, that I am no alone in
my desires.
So, I’ll let you live vicariously through me, surrender to
your baser wants without having to get your hands dirty.
It’s a symbiotic relationship and I’m happy for it to remain
as it is. So long as we both still need each other.
As always, dear readers,
Stay Safe
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