I can feel it coming, racing towards me, ready to tear me and anyone near me into pieces. I sense it lurking in the shadows, like…like I am connected to it. A tingle envelops my entire body, coursing through my veins, prickling my hairs, goosebumps rippling my skin, heart pounding away in my chest. I know it’s coming, and there isn’t anything I can do to stop it. It will get me; it will turn me into its puppet, making me do its bidding. Then when it’s done and has satiated, it’s hunger; it will disappear as fast as it came, leaving me to mop up the mess it made.
I sense it about to strike. I race for the door slamming it shut. It won’t matter because nothing will stop it. I’ve only delayed it, giving a modicum of a few more minutes of respite from the monster. I hear the beast scratching and clawing, digging its razor-sharp claws into the barricade I’ve thrown between us. It bangs, howls, and roars, trying to escape, knowing I am not strong enough to hold it back. It will burst through; it’s inevitable. I will lose this fight; I know it, and it does too.
As I fight to gain the upper hand in this battle, knowing it’s futile. It’s like climbing up a hill made of quicksand. No matter how hard I fight to hold it back, I sink further and further into its clutches. I feel the barrier between us breaking and cracking, and soon it will be gone. I try to cry out for help, but no one is listening. What do I do next? Warn those around? Runaway? No, I can’t do that; running away is unacceptable, right? Doesn’t it show weakness? I ask myself. I have to do something; it’s almost through.
Runaway. Yeah, that’s the best course of action I finally decide. If the beast wants me, it too will go away if I run away. Or so I hope. Readying to make my escape, removing me and thus all around me from danger. I set off, but it’s too late. It’s broken through.
The rage swells. I can feel the anger rising, rising, rising until it’s reached its boiling point. I explode into a fit of anger. The rage has now taken over my body, completely consuming me. My rational mind no longer in control. I lash out at anyone around me. And at this particular moment, that just happens to be my girlfriend.
The slight little disagreement we’re in has now erupted into a full-blown argument, with the monster in control of my movements and words. The me that I know and everyone likes is now strapped in the passenger seat, watching in horror as the beast is now poised to destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to build as usual.
It rages on, screaming and shouting. It’s a part of me, so, unfortunately, it knows everything I know and will use that knowledge in hurtful and destructive ways, just as it has always done. The hateful words it spews are like bile coming back up in the back of my throat. I reach out, trying to catch them before they escape my lips, but unable to do so, cocooned in a paralytic state. All I can do is watch. The monster spins and rages throwing things, breaking valuable and sentimental objects, like the Tazmanian Devil from the cartoon, except doing far more damage, and in real life.
My life.
Then puff, just like that, it’s gone. Retreating back into its hole, waiting for another moment to strike and do more damage. Leaving me once again to clean up the mess. I don’t know how to escape this beast or even where to begin. All I do know is that I must, because at some point. I won’t be able to fix the mess it creates. Though I fear that time has come. This time, the destruction it has wrought seems unmendable—one violent, destructive outburst too many.
I feel another relationship slip through my fingers and all at the hands of the rage monster inside me. I gaze into the mirror at my reflection. I will be rid of you. Somehow, someway, I’ll beat you. I declare. A sinister wry smile stares back at from the mirror. The beast, clearly satisfied with itself once again, is not at all fearful of my decree.