I’ve fixed my hair after seeing my own shadow.
I’ve thought about killing a complete stranger.
I’ve picked my nose in the bathroom, on a date.
I’ve walked past a starving man, eating a sandwich.
I’ve let the water run in the bathroom so people outside will think I washed my hands.
I’ve watched an animal die and felt nothing.
Getting into a car, I’ve hit my head on the door, then, in a second attempt, hit my head on the door frame.
I’ve thought about killing myself; a gun, probably.
When something falls off the counter and I move my foot just in time to avoid it, I’m impressed with myself.
I’ve watched the news over dinner–hundreds dead. I’ve kept eating.
I’ve played with my own nipples for an embarrassing amount of time.
I’ve lied for money, for sex, to make people like me–to make people like me that I disliked.
I’ve danced with myself in the mirror and thought, not bad.
I’ve been scared of someone because they looked different than me.
I’ve licked my own arm to see if I need a shower or not.
This list will get longer, I’m sure. But, no one will ever know. Because they are things I’d never say out loud.