Have You Ever Thought About?

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by ohmynemi

by ohmynemi

"I never really thought about murder until now. I don't know what that says about me, but oh boy, I know I'm in for a treat." I let out a soft chuckle and lean back on the couch. Therapy hasn't really been my thing, but I guess it's worth a shot now. "Have you thought about it in any way?" I asked. "There's only one way." The doctor says, who goes by the name of Lee. "Oh, there's only one way? I hear you loud and clear, boss. Why are you writing all of this down? Is it really that important?" I lean forward, putting my elbows on my thighs. "Well, yes. You're talking about thinking of murder."

"Let me explain myself. There's a lot of shitty people in the world, and there isn't anything we can really do about it. But there's just that one person that just gets on your nerves so much that you feel like you're going snap, which obviously isn't the healthiest thing. But it's not like you'd actually murder them, you just plan it in your head and not follow through. Isn't that what all sane people do? Maybe, yeah, I should channel my frustrations somewhere else, but I haven't had the time to pick up a new hobby. Speaking of which, I really should try and pick up a new hobby. It's better than letting my anger fester." Lee just sat there, staring at me dumbfounded. "Well, I mean, you hit the nail on the head. Channeling your frustrations somewhere else is the best option. It'll create so many more opportunities for you. What you like to do?" Lee adjusted in his seat. "Well, I like to color and paint. I guess you could also say drawing." I shrug. "So why don't you pick that up as a hobby? Why haven't you done that already?" Lee asked. "I don't know, that's a good question, doc." I folded my hands in my lap.

Later that afternoon, I was eating lunch while watching TV. I always had crime documentaries on. Murder has always been a cool subject for me and always interested me, but I could never follow through with it. I just like learning how these killers became the killers they became. That's what interests me the most. Maybe I should be a mental health specialist instead, then. Though, I don't know how well I would react to all that given my temper.

It was Thursday night. Once again at Lee's office. I was pacing around his office, just blabbing on about anything and everything. "Okay, but what if crime was actually legal. What would you do?" I asked, thinking about The Purge. Why was I thinking about that movie? I really don't know. "Well, I would hide all my valuables and make sure no one can get into my home or my office. And then maybe, just maybe, I'd go to the bakery and take some desserts home to eat while I watch movies." I stopped in my tracks as he was speaking, dumbfounded by what he was saying. "Why? There's just so much cool shit you could do, and you choose to take from a bakery?" Lee just gave a simple shrug. "And what would you do?" He cocked a brow. "I would probably make sure all the people I hated and hated me would be taken care of and to just get some new clothes, because who doesn't want to get some awesome new clothes?" I flashed a smile and sat down. "Ah, back at it again with the mindset of a criminal." Lee leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. "That's really concerning. Are you sure you have nothing to tell me about this?" I shook my head. "Nope. I'm sure you've had thoughts like these before." I pointed out. "Not really, no. Sorry to burst your bubble there, Hector. Not a lot of people do." I gave him a puzzled look. "Are you on some kind of drugs, Lee?" I asked, concern filled my voice. "Hector, I think that something might seriously be wrong with you. What I would like for you to do for our next meeting is to keep a journal. Whatever thoughts you had that relate to any criminal, write it down, and briefly explain what you would do. And from there, I will proceed with any questions I have and how to properly treat you."

After the session, I went out and brought a journal. I sat at home, on my couch, holding the journal in my hands. It was completely silent. The sun was just going down. I sighed and closed my eyes. Next thing I knew, it was morning and I was sprawled out on the couch, still in the clothes from the day before. After blinking my eyes open a few times, and after the confusion wore off, I sat up and picked up the journal that had fell on the floor. I glanced at the clock and it was ten thirty in the morning. I stood up and went into the kitchen and opened my refrigerator. I grabbed the carton of eggs and cracked two in a frying pan. I rubbed my face, emitting a sigh afterwords.

I took the advice of my therapist to write in the journal when i had those thoughts. And over time, and talking to him more, I wrote more and more in the journal that wasn't what my mind was reverting to. I just wrote and wrote. Writing became extremely therapeutic to me and it helped me get a sense of who I really was.