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I don't want to mess things up by hurting someone. I attempt to stay calm, but underneath that mask, the anger bubbles up searing hot inside. I'm a woman, but I nearly broke mum's wrist when she made me mad. Grabbed it too hard and wouldn't let go. I used to bring dead animals into my room when I was around seven. My brother found all of them rotting under the bed. I went to my friend's house after she got a pet fish. When she left the room, I held it out of the water to watch it flop around. What's even more disgusting is that, as a child especially, the age of the victim didn't matter... The adrenaline rush of the fantasies, sexual or not, was what was addicting. I'd like to think that this was excusable because I was myself a child. It is not. I feel no remorse for these actions, because they aren't hurting anyone, but I do feel dirty.For as long as I can remember, I've gotten off on torture. When I was a child especially, I had vivid lucid dreams of committing sickening acts on a character I called Sally. I knew it was wrong, so I hid it from people. My parents thought I wanted to become a doctor or veterinarian because they always found my dolls/stuffed animals covered in band-aids, bandages, stitches, etc... I have a loving, kind family that has never done me harm, and haven't experienced anything traumatizing as a child.I've had a lot of f***ed up thoughts since I was a child. What's wrong with me?