Reoccurring from the age of sixteen and gradually getting more demanding as time passed, I’ve had strong urges to observe others in pain. Be it from my own hand or the hands of others, seeing another person being broken is something I’ve obsessed over for a long time.

This graduated into fantasies of torturing and murdering people - to the point that it was on my mind constantly. Not just for hours or even days, but for several months at a time. While I ate, while I worked, while I studied, while I drank with friends or watched movies with my girlfriend – my mind always drifted back to my violent desires.

My young nephews remain to this day the only people I genuinely feel affection for and are the only two people in my life who have never been considered potential targets for me. I recall the birth of my second nephew. Even as I cradled him in my arms I was fantasizing about what it would feel like to strangle the pretty young nurse who’d been attending his mothers needs all morning.

I’d obsess over these feelings to new extremes in the years to follow. I’d make plans and take notes on potential victims – I’d stalk strangers on the street to see how long it took for them to take notice; to get uncomfortable and look over their shoulder at me. I’d cancel nights out with friends, and say I was busy just to sit in and fantasize about what I’d do to someone if I got my hands on them. I've always preferred my own company, even as a child, so my absence from birthdays and other social events never caused much alarm.

I would dream of getting away with murder. I fantasied and became aroused at the thought of mutilating and killing people. It was no longer enough to simply imagine and enjoy the act for what it was; I got sexual gratification from it as well. It ruled my thoughts. Upon meeting someone attractive I’d smiled, introduced myself and politely asked after their interest while imagining what it would feel liked to wrap my hands around their throat.
What noise would they make when I slit them open?
Would they rattle, or squeal, or rasp or weep?
How long would it take for them to die?
How would I dispose of them after?

The human brain weighs roughly three pounds. An adult skull, depending on its size can weigh between 6 and 8 pounds. I weighed my college books and figured what ones gave me the ideal 11 pounds – I put them in my backpack and walked around fantasying I had a human head in there instead.

These days, violent rape and murder scenes in movies don’t cut it for me anymore. They’re not real. I watch execution videos, beheadings and the occasional snuff movie when they’re leaked online to tide my needs for now. The thoughts are always there at the back of my mind and have been present during the biggest events of my life. The birth of my nephews, my sister’s wedding, the funerals of my grandparents, the first time I slept with my girlfriend. Always there.

It’s constant. It’s such a big part of who I am, yet nobody in my life knows anything about it. It feels strange, knowing the person my friends and family know and love doesn't even exist. After a slip up last year, my parents moved to get me hospitalized but I was able to convince the Drs evaluating me that I was fine. My own mother had said “This isn’t the real you.” But it was the real me.

That’s when I realized that the real me wasn't welcome in my family’s life.
That’s when I realized that nobody else mattered.
That’s when I realized that if I don’t control myself, fantasy will become reality.

Regardless, the world keeps on spinning and I can't predict what the future holds. I don't doubt there are many, many others like myself who haven't acted upon their urges - I wont either. I'm stronger than that.