that sounds like something you should be telling your psychiatrist

Several times throughout the day, I have the sudden urge to hit someone. Not any one person in particular- not someone I know personally. I have an image in my brain of this faceless person just standing there in front of me and all of a sudden I run up and start wailing on them. Punching them in the neck, kneeing their face. Knocking out teeth, permanently damaging reproductive systems, fracturing ribs. I imagine myself, digging stiletto heels in this faceless guy’s eye sockets, dragging his face across asphalt, my knuckles smeared with blood, biting this guy’s fingers off. This faceless guy is going about his merry way and I just start fucking beating the shit out of him.

I’m sitting in class, I’m walking down the street, maybe just sitting half naked on my kitchen floor eating Craisins and I play this scenario over in my head. Scenes of me, teeth bared, fingernails flying, just tearing this guy to shreds. I rewind the tape and play the reel several times over. Watch it again and again in my mind. Movie marathon. Rachel Kicks The Living Shit Out Of Faceless Man parts one, two, three, four.

I’d like to thank the academy.

All of my frustration, all of my insecurities, my shortcomings, every bad thing that anyone has ever made me feel is just compressed and unleashed upon poor Faceless Man. And when I look down at the remains of the bones and bloody meat, sprawled out, scrubbed of id, coughing up his lungs, Mr. Faceless, I feel calm and serene. I am relaxed. Tranquil. Zen. Untouched. Unconquered. Unattainable.

Any time I’ve got that kinda dazed/stoned look on my face. Any time I stare at someone as they’re talking to me, slight smile on my lips to make them think I’m listening. Any time I’m sitting with a sketchbook, hovering my pen as if I’m thinking of what to draw. Any time a professor starts going on about some useless thing and I’m nodding my head slightly as if it’s really interesting. Any time I’ve got headphones on, zoning out in front of a computer or gazing at a TV. Any time I’m walking anywhere. I’m really just picturing McFaceless. Getting his ass kicked. I’m having a conversation with you and I’m running on the treadmill, and I’m taking notes in class and I’m rocking out to some heavy tunes, but really, REALLY, I’m going ape shit on this faceless guy’s ass and I’m feeling more and more of a rush each time I hear a bone crack and the screams of despair as the onlookers beg and plead for me to stop. I am composed. I am peaceful. I am euphoric.

Of course this is all a fantasy. A daydream. I could never really kick anyone’s ass. Anyone could look at me and tell you that. I have no physical strength. I can’t even do a push-up. I’m as weak and fragile physically as I am mentally.

But Mr. Faceless doesn’t know that.

Appearances can be deceptive.