I am a good person… right?

Yes, a far too empathic person for my own good.
I weep aloud even for inanimate chairs which are beaten, broken and bruised upon the floor of a 5th grade classroom.

So why is it
that so many of my thoughts whisper of an alternative nature?

“I wonder what angle I’d need to snap their neck cleanly.”
“How easy would it be for me to convince this person to **** themself? If I gain their trust beforehand?”

I am terrified. Terrified of myself and what I might do.
Are others scared?
Scared as I am?

~ “If you relived that moment, what do you think you would’ve said to him?”
~ “I wouldn’t have said anything.
I would have punched him in the throat, slammed his head against the floor and kept hitting him.
Again.
Again.
Eyes,
Nose,
Throat.
I would keep going until my hands broke,
Until he lost any hope in his eyes and lost the strength to fight back.
I want to see him drown in his own fluids as I laugh in his face and in the face of his parents.
LAUGH AT THEIR TEARS!”

Since then, my therapist has not looked at me the same.

I am a good person. A healthy person.
So why am I beginning to doubt this?

Do others really know me as well as they think they do?
… do I know myself at all?