The Monster Inside

When I was growing up it was not a peaceful event to say the least. It was a harsh and violent time mixed with only a few moments of peace and happiness. But I can't remember them, only the hard times. My father was a violent man, back then he's changed a lot since then, and though he never hit me he did hit my brothers. There were times that I feared going home so much that I would walk the long way home from the bus stop. The whole time I was growing up I was hoping and praying that someone would come and save me from that place but no one ever came. And the only way I had to survive was to adopt my father's evil temper and grow up fast.

I had the worst temper that anyone could have seen. I was violent and just mad at the whole world. There were even times where I had become abusive toward my own pets. Thinking about my actions then makes me sick and breaks my heart but that is how I was then. There are some events that I can't even talk about because 1)I'm scared that I'll loose my friends because they'll think I'm a monster and 2)because to talk about it makes me relive it.

I was mad at the whole world and didn't even know why. My mom barely hugged me or talked to me and my dad would just be nice to me if he felt like it that day. I was so scared to come home and he would be there in a bad mood and I would have to take the brunt force of his temper. I grew up only wanting to be alone and to myself. Because if I was by myself I was safe. Most kids only have one abusive parent while the other ignores the violence, not me. They both were violent towards me. I remember one time when I cut my own bangs because I kept asking my mom to do it for me but she never had the time so I did it myself. When my mom got home and had seen what I had done she screamed at me and pulled me around the house by my misshapen bangs demanding why I would do such a stupid thing.

Growing up in that kind of a house all I knew was anger and violence. I only saw that it was a problem when I was in college and a roommate had told me that she was scared of me. That hit me like a ton of bricks! I had become the fear that I was raised in! And I hated that about me. I couldn't believe that I had become the monster that I vowed to never be. It was only through the love and kindness of my other roommate that helped me realize what I was doing, to myself and to others. She helped tame the monster inside of me. And because of that I am forever grateful!

But the monster is still there, waiting for a weak moment to come out and destroy my life. It scares me so much that I don't know if I want kids. I'm scared that I would become the horrible parent that I was raised with. I don't want to pass down the anger and violence that I was raised with. That is not my life now and I don't want to make it that way again for me or any other person. I know that because I'm afraid of it that I probably won't do that but there is still that fear that maybe one night the baby will cry too long or too loud. I can't do that. It scares me. So much so that I don't even like to be around kids. I mean, I wouldn't know what to do around them in the first place and I'm worried that I'll snap at one point and become the monster again. I don't know how long I can contain it. I know that the only way to get it out of me is to face it head on, but I don't know if I'll survive the battle.

I have a monster inside of me. He's caged...for now.

**Discloser: My parents have changed a lot as well. We are no longer the violent people that we once were. But...sometimes I feel it's too little, too late.

My Imagination.

A lot of people wonder how I can come up with some of the stories and poems that I write. All I can say is that it's my imagination. I love it and it loves me...to a point. Basically it's a disfuntional kind of love. I love my imagination because of how varied it is and how it shows me worlds and places that I never even knew excisted! And it loves me because I am able to keep up and even have some input for it to feed off of. But at times I just want to be left alone and just want to sit back without having to think of things. And it's at those times where it becomes the loudest and most cruelest of all. And the only way to silence it is to write out what it keeps screaming at me.

So yeah a lot of my writing is just from me creating whatever I can from within the darkest corners of my mind. When you meet me and see me you can get the impression that I'm a sweet, happy-go-lucky kind of girl. And I am, to a point, but I'm really not. The corners of my mind are dark and deceptive and I have a hard time trying to cope with it sometimes. That's where my writing comes in handy. I can write all of the dark things that pleage my mind and then I feel better about the world. So I guess I am that sweet, happy-go-lucky kind of girl because I know how evil the world can get and I try to celebrate all the good in the world, as much and as often as I can.

My mind does not stop for one second. I can be thinking of several things at once without even trying. And when I concentrate on things I will have planned and thought out several outcomes and then go with the one that appeals to me the most. And if I talk to you and get to know you I will be able to practically read your mind and know what you are doing and what you are up to and how it was going to end before you even knew that you would be taking a single step in that direction. It's a cool thing to have but also a very annoying thing to have. I'm hardly ever surprised by anything anymore. And when I am I take it and enjoy every second of the feeling because I don't know what it'll happen to me again.

So I guess it's a good thing that I'm a writer so that I can get those feelings out of me before they can do some real damage. Plus I can explore more of my stories that haunt my mind and try to get them out. The funny thing is that when I do write them out they are gone and I am at peace. But not for long. The only down side to writing the stories out is that they are replaced by another one. Sometimes it's of the same level of happy, sad, good or bad that the other one was at but there are times when it takes a serious dive for the worse. And I just don't like myself when I'm writing such things. It's not fun for me. And there have been times where I have scared myself from my writing.

And when I am writing and get really into it, I just loose all sense of time and place and I'm in the story! I don't even know how I even wrote the words on the page! I just watch my hand and it goes off on it's own and places the poem or story on the page and all I can do is just hold it and give it the use of my hand. That's why I always have a pen and some paper with me. If you ask me if I have I pen I tend to laugh a little because I have at least 3 or 4 pens on me at one time. It's because I'm worried that I'll run out of ink before I run out of story. And that's kind of more of a paranoyed feeling than fear. Because if I do run out of ink or paper I can keep the story held up for awhile but when I see some paper or a full pen then the story is practically jumping out of my head and that's all I can think about.

And in short, I don't really know where some of my stories or poems come from, especially the dark ones. They just come out when I'm quiet and still or when I see something that just makes that part of my mind click. And in order to get those dark feelings out of me I just have to write them out. I'm not suicidal, I'm not homicidal, I'm not going to act on anything violent or evil or anyting like that. It's just how my mind and imagination works sometimes. And like I said before it's a love/hate relationship. And there is another side to the whole thing, a lighter side. Where I come up with some of the most wonderful, loving stories and poems there are. My imagination has extreams on both sides of the coin. It loves to be both comedic and tragic.

And that is how my imgaination works. If I have confused you in anyway...try living in my head for a few seconds.