Note to readers: This essay contains graphic and disturbing content.
I was 14 and working as a babysitter when the thoughts first came.
What if I wanted to harm the kid I was caring for? What if I went into his room while he was sleeping and hurt him?
Logically, I knew I didn’t want to abuse this kid or any other. But the thoughts were smarter than I was. They were tricky and had a rebuttal for every reassurance I gave myself.
Perhaps you’ve already harmed him, the thoughts hinted.
Perhaps you did it blacked out in a dissociative trance and that’s why you can’t remember it. Perhaps you so badly traumatized yourself hurting this child that you’ve blocked the memories.