TW: venting about intrusive thoughts, politics, violence and gore.
I don't think I could ever really pinpoint exactly when I started having intrusive thoughts.
It could've been during my time in late middle school, when I was a kid fully invested in Tumblr, discovering my politics, and descending heavily into "radical" leftism. I distinctly remember in 2014 or so being flooded with news stories about police brutality, violence against minorites, and government coruption. It's crazy looking back on it now, considering I had no idea how much of this was going to become an increasingly regular occurance as the years would pass, but it was all so intense for a 13 year old girl, especially one as sheltered as I was. I remember having fantasies about "setting things right", usually through violence or telling people off. In these fantasies, I'd imagine myself beating these politicians and cops making the world worse to a pulp, or brutally defeating bigots through verbal wit. I have no idea why I thought any of this would be possible, since I've always been a tiny child who struggled heavily in P.E and made every conversation she was a part of awkward, but I suppose that's what the purpose of a fantasy is; to free yourself from the shackles of reality and your own limitations.
But all of that could be brushed off as me just being a very justly-minded young girl. It was high school when that all of it started getting so much worse.
I entered high school from around 2015-2019. People often talk about sudden wave of conservatism we're in right now, but no one seems to talk about how openly regressive most people were during the time I was growing up. A large source for my crippling social anxiety was this overwhelming feeling of everyone being terrible in one way or another. No matter what, it seemed like everyone had something uniquely awful to say about transgender people, people with "five hundred genders", or autistic people. I can't tell you how many times I felt like I knew someone enough to grow comfortable with them, only to make an offhand line about why trans weirdos deserved to be in prison or why people like me were getting "tortured in africa". And the worst part is that the teachers were very much the same way, and encouraged much of this behavior. We got shown Prager U clips in philosophy class, got given lectures on the evils of abortion, and queer rights constantly on the table for debate subjects.
Whenever I had a particularly negative with another student or a teacher, I remember my brain would stew on it like crazy. I'd try my best to distract myself by playing around on Tumblr like I normally would but on the inside, I could feel angry tearing my insides apart. And in my head, I conjured scenarios where I rightfully took my anger out on these people. Usually, with a lot of yelling, insulting, and enough screaming to scare them into submission.
But if I was really mad, I'd imagine things so much worse.
In the more intense fantasies, I'd lunge towards these people physically, often grabbing them by the neck. Then, things would heavily escelate into strangling them, smashing their heads open, tearing open their neck or using a knife for disembowlment. These were ordinary, everyday people, but all I could think about was just how much I wanted them gone. I hated seeing them all at school everyday, and I hated that I had absolutely no choice whatsoever in the people I'd be surrounded by. I hated having to sit beside them, to listen to them talk, to stay quiet while garbage bile spews from their mouths and as they wished harm on the people I care about. I hated being lectured by them, feeling helpless, and always being the tiny, ridiculous person in every room, too sensetive for anything and rightfully mocked for it. I just wanted them to go away. To stop existing. Stop being near me. Stop making everything awful.
During this time, I never thought much about the implications behind these thoughts, mainly because these were nothing more than awful people in my mind. It didn't bother me at all that I was thinking these things, for I thought they clearly deserved it. But it's something else entirely when you start having these thoughts about your own family.
During the height of the COVID pandemic, I could not escape my mother, no matter what I did. She had been sliding deeper down the conservative pipeline (and still is, to this very day) and became unavoidably fixated on anti-vaxx conspiracies. I often felt deeply rattled by the news stories involving people with long covid and it left me terrified for both me and my younger sister, especially when she had to start going back to school. So, you could imagine how helpless I felt when our parents denied us the right to get vaccinated. I argued with my mother several times before outright giving up and realizing there was nothing I could ever do to change her mind, but that didn't stop her from trying to bring it up during every conversation, among other right-wing conspiracy theories. For the longest time, we couldn't have a family meal or even spend time in the kitchen without her trying to insert conspiracies or politics into it. And jesus fuck, I hated it.
It was at this point when the instrusive thoughts started becoming a daily occurance, and causing so much helpless misery for me. Every day, for several years straight, I was having violent thoughts about either my mother or the shitty politicians flooding my social media feed. Depending on what was happening that day, it would flipflop back and forth constantly, between obsessively wishing for my own mother to be gone and wanting to get rid of the greedy fucks descending us into hell. Combined with the lockdown and being relocated to the tiny forest town I spent the last four years living in, I felt like a caged animal. Constantly wandering back in forth along the edge of my cage, losing my grip and wishing violence on the people who put me there.
As you know, some things have gotten better for me these days. The pandemic isn't the hottest topic anymore (even thought it's still technically going, and you're a fool if you think it isn't), I've been seeing multiple counselors, and I've just finally moved out to a home of my own. By all accounts, I don't think there's a reason to feel all that trapped anymore. I'm starting to have my own life and make my own choices. There's nothing in my personal life threatening my autonomy and freedom anymore.
And yet...
A small snippet of negative, depressing news is still enough to fill me with resurfaced rage and ruin my entire day.
Just from hearing about those in power inching us closer to the apocalypse, techbros draining my world of everything I hold dear, or the shallow chucklefucks currently making up our society, my brain can only think of cracked skulls, torn throats, or spilling guts. Even when trying to do something pleasant, like watch a movie I enjoy or making a treat, my physical impulses will yank me out of whatever I'm doing. And sometimes, my loved ones are still the subject of these moments, if I've had a particularly negative interaction with them. What makes it all so much worse though are the negative impulses that come with them. It's nothing but constantly head-shaking, teeth gritting, furious hand flapping, and pacing back and forth, and I hate it. It all gives me headaches and nonstop mental exhaustion.
More than ever before, these thoughts and behaviors have become deeply unsettling to me. I hate them. I hate that I can't hear about anything without being filled with uncontrollable rage and desires of violence towards the people I love and people who just don't know better. It makes me feel dangerous, cruel, and full of hate, and it's been difficult to see myself in any other way because of it. I've had such a hard, heart-destroying time trying to see myself as the soft, loving person I very much want to me, all because of these thoughts. After all, how could someone be kindhearted soul when all they think about all day is hurting people?
Before you ask, yes. I have discussed these things with my counselor. For a long time, actually. As you'd expect, I've been given constant reminders that intrusive thoughts don't represent conscious intent. I've always known this, somewhat, but I feel I always give an unfair exception for myself. I'm alone a lot of the time, trapped in my own head and not interacting much with others. And when you live like that, it's hard to get a grasp on what you're actually like. How you're percieved, and how you actually mix with others within physical reality. It's almost impossible to tell which is real; the gentle, mild-mannered woman who wants to make sure no one gets hurt, or the enraged anarchist that desperately wants to scream, throw shit and rip apart the people she despises.
One day, the same week after the US election, I was sitting on my bed and frozen still...
I was so overwhelmed with emotion and the uncomfortable realization of where our world was heading that I just couldn't move. I wasn't crying, or pacing, or projecting scenarios of hatred and violence, but I was completely stiff. Too overhelmed with dread to do anything, or even attempt to think coherently.
Luckily, my younger sister came to bring up dinner, and she talked me out of my state. I explained to her that when I'm emotionally overhelmed, I feel too panicked to help myself. In response, she told me this:
"It's because your body thinks it's in danger, and it needs to be convinced it's not."
I can imagine this being a very simple, obvious observation to a lot of people, but I think it opened my eyes to why these thoughts are so common to me. I always feel like I'm in danger. Not literally, or in any way that matches the reality surrounding me, but the existence of both me and the people I care about always feels threatened. I'm terrified, constantly, of living on a dying planet, of being in a world where human expression and soul have gone extinct, of inhabiting a society where every person feels like a cruel alien devoid of empathy. I'm very much aware of these things not being immediate issues (for now), but that awareness does little to lessen this feeling of being trapped. Trapped in a dying, unpleasant future, full of inhuman atrocities and people I can't fucking stand. And even in the past, it was very much that same feeling. There was that undying fear of every person I'd ever encounter for the rest of my life would have underlying awfulness, or that I was doomed to a disease-ridden demise from the choices of my parents, and not my own.
I feel in danger of losing my one and only life to man-made misery every single day of my life, to the point where I can't imagine escaping it without hurting someone.
Just a week ago, my intrusive thoughts started acting up again, and they were causing me to constantly get up to pace back and forth, shaking my head and gritting my jaw the whole time. At first, I was confused. I was in the living room of my new home during that moment, and I thought that once I wasn't confined to the tiny space of my old room anymore, I wouldn't feel the need to mindlessly walk in circles. And then, for the first time in my life, I thought to look up what headrocking during these moments meant. Don't ask me why I didn't look these things up before now. It's hard to remember you should do these things when you're living with constant brain fog. Regardless, I looked it up and I was told that the head shakes signify your brain rejecting these thoughts. A way for your body to tell you that you don't enjoy them and want to stop dwelling on them as quickly as possible.
I don't think I can convey just how much weight this took off me.
Time and time again, I've been told by others that my intrusive thoughts aren't me. "You don't actually want to do those things", "they don't represent how you actually feel", "it doesn't mean you'll act on them". I understand the intent behind those statements, but they've never felt convincing to me. And I think that's because, on some level, my intrusive thoughts do feel like me. Although I am disturbed by them, they're all raw displays of my fear. My resentments, my rage, and maybe a hidden desire to protect myself and others. I don't like the implication that they don't stem from something real, but finding out how my body has been instinctively fighting them finally brought me some comfort. Finally, I've found evidence that these fantasies aren't something I enjoy or revel in deep down. It's an odd form of kindness coming from myself that I'm really not used to, but my tired heart is trying to embrace it.
Maybe I'm not a violent person. Just a hurt and frightened one, like everyone else.