I hate kids.

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I want to confess, because the nasty part of my character, which appeared in my childhood, began to manifest itself again. No matter how hard I tried to clean it up. I understand that after my story, curses and scolding will fall on me, but I have wanted to share it with someone for a long time.

The thing is, I hate little kids. I myself am 22 years old, and I consider children under the age of 12 to be “small. And I hate them for a reason. It’s more like a somewhat violent mania. There are, of course, people who can’t stand crying babies, but they are more adequate than I am.

I remember very well how I started this mania. I was three years old at the time. My father went to the sea, and my mother often had to take me to work with her. You couldn’t leave a little baby for 24 hours, and my neighbors couldn’t watch me. And my mother worked in the maternity hospital. Like all children, I was extremely curious. So instead of sitting quietly and playing with toys, I ran around the maternity hospital. I looked in every room, and I snatched vitamins out of jars. Then one day I found myself in front of the delivery room. The door, through the carelessness of the medical staff, was ajar, and I saw one of the women in labor.

They say that when you see a baby being born, there is light in your soul. I don’t know who said that, but he certainly didn’t see a real birth. I felt sorry for the woman in labor, cursing at this baby that was coming out of her. He’s such a pain, then why give birth? When the baby was taken out and screamed, I wanted to run away. It was frightening to see that bloody, squirming body in the midwife’s hands.

One day my mother showed me the incubators. I stood and looked at these sleeping babies, and an incomprehensible anger built up inside me. Nasty, disgusting, screaming bastards… There was a time when she took me to a psychologist, but it seemed useless. So when my sister was born, I hated her, too. Her mere existence annoyed me and I was always trying to hurt her.

Time was passing. I grew up, this mania slowly began to pass. I even began to be moved by the sight of babies, both crying and laughing. And I wasn’t even annoyed by children’s cries and tantrums anymore. I tried to calm the baby, and when he smiled, it made me happy. But now that mania was back again.

It all started when I started working in the children’s library. Different kids came in, mostly under 10 years old. There were some good kids, some bullies. But there were also kids from bad families who wouldn’t listen. They tore books and argued with librarians. They didn’t care about the opinions of others. And again I began to imagine what I would do wrong to them. Horrifying pictures with scenes of infernal torture came to mind again.

What got to me was that my third cousin asked me to babysit her one-year-old daughter for a couple of weeks (my sister was in the hospital with a fracture). At first I was fine with the baby, but when she started crying, it all boiled over in me. I could hardly contain myself, just in time to stop my hand, which I already swung and wanted to slap her. The baby sensed my aggression, and so she screamed even more.

Now I go to a psychologist, but he doesn’t help me either. It doesn’t get any easier. I get mad at the kids making noise on the bus. I reprimand young mothers that they do not cope with their maternal duties, do not engage in the education of their offspring.

To be honest, I myself am getting tired of this hatred and don’t know where to run anymore. That is why I am asking for help.