Practice Makes A Monster

5 01 2010

Growing older, you encounter monsters who couldn’t care less whether you live or die in the blaze of deceit. The only way for you to make it through is to build your own monster, to keep yourself from being vaporized. But I’m an addict.

About 3 years ago, a boy broke my heart. I have never typed those words out since it happened because it killed me to think that another human being, who’s not superior nor more special than I, had broken and stole a little piece of me. It appeared sad and pathetic. I couldn’t bring myself to admit it.

So I build this imaginary fence around myself, specially made to filter bad spirits and selective of good ones. I haven’t been spending all these years mourning something I never had in the first place but I’ve trained myself to never falter again. Practice made a monster. I figured, if I was horrible enough, people would know to stay the fuck away. I was treating people like shit and I couldn’t help myself. I felt great remorse but what good is regret when the deed is done?

But a couple of months back, I had decided it was time to settle back into my own skin. It wasn’t easy turning back. I was like an addict. My addiction was being a monster.

Now, I let out my frustrations with the abuse of verbal and written profanities to maintain some kind of  mental balance but I let things slide most times. I’m back to keeping it to myself and swallowing my pride.

But now, with the major significant change in my life, they’re back. In a different shape. In another form. The monsters still exist and they’re out for blood.

Back then I was preventing something from coming in. Right now, I’m holding back something from escaping out. But rest assure, if I’m being fucked with over something that means this much to me, falling off the wagon is not going to be very difficult.

If my suspicions stand uncorrected, this ain’t gonna end pretty.

Mark my words.

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