I really need to stop reading.

When I was in 6th grade i was bullied by a guy called Zeb. I used to fantasize about killing him. About curb stomping his jaw like a heavy boot through a pomegranate. Granted, that kind of thinking I beleive justified. Even today though, i find I wonder what it would be like to cause a traffic accident. What it would be like just so bury my fist into a passer-bys stomach as we pass on the sidewalk. What it would feel like to kill someone. ANd please dont take this as a worry sign, a call for help, because Ive had these fantasies, these cruel scenarios all my life. I've never needed to question the yay or nay of calling them to fruition because Im not crazy, Im not disturbed. Honestly I dont really know what to call it.
The oddest thing, i think, is that i've never even thrown a punch in anger. I've never been in any violent confrontation. Ever. So when I have dreams of hitting someone, they dont react, they dont budge because my throw has no basis for power. They sometimes dont even notice im trying to harm them until I've already turned their face into a pudding with my fists.

Anyway these what-if scenarios arent limited to the sadistic. I'll often wonder what life would be like if I suddenly went blind, by sickness or by accident or by my own will. I wonder what it would feel like to have a knife at my throat or a gun muzzled into my gut. What would it be like if my friends or family were taken from me, leaving me broken? I have a baseball bat and a super bright led flashlight at my bedside just in case of home invasion. I've almost bought knives online, concealable ones just to have on my person as I'm walking the street. Purely for defense. With my imaginary ninja fighting skills. As if the adrenaline will release the jason bourne in me or something.

It reminds me of fight club a little bit. The parts where Jack or John or Edward come to realize the world went soft. The ways of contestual violence was shunned in lieu of pacifism. So everything is dull. All negative reactions and feelings are forbidden. We spend our entire existence trying to be at least satisfied. How can we fully appreciate the good feelings with the poor standards we set for happiness? Until we feel pain and anguish, can we really truely grow as individuals?

This would explain my yearning for wanting to be homeless. For wanting to be grungy and dirty and genuinely gross for a time. So when I pick myself back up, even if its only back to our present status' it will make every day after a triumph.
And i promise, my imaginary journey for self fulfillment will not include any actions upon any second parties. So stop trying to worry. Typing this is the closest thing to lashing out I think I'm capable of, and even this has been pent up for way too long.