Where is the (In)humanity?

Monsters, killers, murderers, sickos, psychopath. Being diagnosed this wasn’t a shock to me. I knew of this from a young age. Least I knew I wasn’t right somewhere inside. Like looking at things from somewhere different, let alone I found out about my problem because it was quickly apparent. Did I kill small animals? Did I do horrible things to cats? No, I didn’t do anything to any animal. No, I was always prone to violence, a disturbing sort of anger that the psychologists that analyzed me would describe as a psychopathic rage.

When I was very very young, I have my earliest memory. I remember the friends of the family came into town. Darren didn’t know me, I didn’t know him, he was younger than me. I don’t remember what he did that made me mad. I don’t remember if I just was annoyed with him or what, but suddenly when he was on the other side of the Teeter-Todder. a metal one that would swing back n’ forth instead of up and down. I pushed it right into Darren’s face. Smashing him in the square in the nose, he fell over and blood poured from his nose, he started to cry and his mother came out and started to clean him up. No one looked at me, no one even knew that it was cause I did it. So, often in my life at the slightest hint of that inside me, and people tell me I need to work on that anger problem. Never realizing what I am, or how I felt. It wasn’t ever the same, not as the common anger problem, this is more severe.

I joined in my anger, I seethed in rage and hated everything, and it was my world. I lived like that for so long yet, somewhere on the path a correction was needed. I realized after one mistake too many that what I was doing wasn’t okay. It wasn’t something that people do. And that if anything else, if I want a chance to find some semblance of joy in life then you must walk away. So I did, many years ago. Like the path of anyone who has done things the hard way, it is only harder to return.

It has taken many years to change, to find the solutions for myself to become someone different. Someone that is still the monster, content to be, someone that is among you, and I watch. Waiting for the person to cross my path that deserves the wrath, waiting for someone who might not know what I am, and yet they will find out.

But like a warrior who’s fought to many wars, I am done with the battlefield, and on more challenged battlegrounds. The inner struggles and constant battle to maintain. Taking pieces from those I have met along the way, those I thought worthy, and those fragments of myself, and fashioned the mask and wear it each day. I hope that I can find that happiness one day, but if I don’t then I know that despite my past convictions, despite what I am, I do what I do now trying to make something better, than what I witnessed. One moment at a time, I may be the one telling you in a hospital, “Don’t worry, he will be just fine.” When you have no one there. I may be the one to drop you money because you showed something more valued. I may be the one that changes your day by being someone different than you expected me to be. I am someone different because my path has created me to be, but when looking back and seeing who I am now. I am simply myself, and there is nobody like me.

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