Creative Writing Humor Non-Fiction

Obsession with All Things Murder

person s hands covered with blood
Photo by it’s me neosiam on Pexels.com

I think there’s something seriously wrong with me. Probably you’ve guessed it already. My mom died. And I don’t say that for sympathy so much as I’m saying it to illustrate my poor sleeping habits as of late. Before she died, I didn’t sleep much. Now that she’s gone, I barely sleep at all. 

Sleeping for me is like trying to orgasm. Sometimes it finishes too quickly, and I’m desperate for it to come back in a longer wave. Sometimes it lasts a little longer than I expected. But sometimes, it scares the shit out of me when I realize it needs some seriously weird and messed up stuff to engage with for me to finally get there. Lately for me, it’s hard to sleep without having something murder or death related to watch.

My husband thinks it’s a little strange. He laughs along with me at the oddness of it all. All the while hoping, I’m guessing, that I’m not giving him signs that he will soon be dying at my hands. But I can’t help it: I’m obsessed with murder, beyond the normal “I like to watch crime thrillers on Netflix” kind of obsession. I love learning about serial killers, I’ve often fantasized about being a detective observing and theorizing over a grim crime scene, I obsess about designing the perfect murder. Currently, I’m working on a scenario where my murder weapon is a sharp object made out of ice, and I surprise a stranger who’s taking a hot shower. Or bath. Doesn’t matter so long as the scenario will definitely destroy the murder weapon leaving no trace, making it impossible to connect me with the murder through fingerprints. 

I promise you again: I am not a serial murderer in the making. My husband is alive and well, and he’s going to stay that way.

But true crime, listening to how people kill or how people struggle with someone they loved being killed, is literally the only thing that can make me fall asleep these days. I need to ponder over gruesome, explicit images of murder scenes to help ease me into unconsciousness.  I need the dulcet tones of pathological, psychotic voices like Ted Bundy or Iceman, Richard Kuklinsky, to help me sleep. As soon as I hear their lifeless, terrifying voices talking in detail about how and why they’ve killed, I drift off to sleep like babies do when they listen to lullabies. 

Because I’m a little bit crazy. And I just want to fucking sleep. 

 

3 comments on “Obsession with All Things Murder

  1. Deborah Porter-Walker

    Ok, that’s officially weird!!…and I am debating my visit 😁 (or getting washed during it!!). Particularly like the description and concept of the last paragraph and the last lines. Your use of ‘Ted Bundy’ and ‘lullaby’ in the same sentence…beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. HMM. MAYBE YOU SHUD RECONSIDER PURSUING WRITING. MURDER AND TED BUNDY COOL? WTF YO

    Like

    • It’s a self-deprecating, dark humor piece.

      Of course I don’t idolize serial killers and think they’re cool. I’m not a monster. Just trying to find the humor in going through a dark time of grief with the recent death of my mother. Weird things happen in the coping mechanisms you find do/do not work for you when you lose a loved one. This is an example of one coping mechanism that worked for a while that could help me get some sleep as I was not functioning on much after her death. I wanted to find humor in myself and my experience to have something other than grief, depression and anxiety on my plate. This is what came out.

      I’m just trying to be honest about my personal struggle.

      Maybe when commenting on someone’s writing, you should first try asking questions to understand what the person is trying to say before making harsh judgments in the future. I’m all for constructive criticism, but let me be frank: you don’t know me and therefore have no right to advise me on what career path I should take in my life.

      Good day.

      All the best to you. Sorry you misunderstood my point in this blog post.

      Like

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