Some monsters really exist

As a child, who doesn't know the instinctive fear of keeping a limb outside of the protective shell of one's duvet or blanket? The thought of a monster existing underneath one's bed, inside the closet or elsewhere in one's room is almost like an essential part of everyone's childhood. For most it is something which we look back on more as a cherished memory, along with other silliness that we did or believed in as a child.

Some children are not so lucky, however. They find that some monsters are real, as they suffer various forms of physical, psychological or even sexual abuse at the hands of older children or adults. Instead of 'growing out of it', the constant confirmation makes them ever more anxious and aware of the next attack and the next monster. The next beating or humiliation.


As I struggle to find my way through the fuzzy memories of a childhood trauma along with many subsequent traumatic events of psychological, physical and abusive sexual nature, it's becoming ever more obvious to me that not only are the monsters which I once thought to be hiding in the darkness absolutely real, somewhere along the way I have become more and more like those monsters myself.

I guess it is inevitable when I read through the medical literature on post-traumatic stress disorder and related that such things happen. Children who suffered abuse are after all more likely to become abusers themselves, as if the wrongful behaviour has impressed itself so much in the child's brain that it is the first thing that jumps to mind when a similar situation presents itself. Even if the roles have been reversed.


Whatever this adult man and others did to me when I was about five years old involved a lot of yelling and accusations at the end, leaving me shocked and terrified alone in a dark room. I still hate yelling and accusations. I hope that it's not something which I subconsciously do to others anyway. Just like how being touched by others in any way still makes me feel terrified, as it brings back those old memories of being violated. I don't want to yell. I don't want to accuse. I don't want to do anything to others without it being okay.

I can still feel the dark monsters lurking inside my mind, yearning to take over. Maybe it's just how the human brain tries to defend itself, by putting aggression against aggression, violence against violence. Or just by running away and avoiding any kind of confrontation and conflict.

When the bullies during primary school and beyond encircled me with yelling and insults, or tried to cut me off while I was cycling home, or punched me in the gut and laughed as I buckled over in agony, or spit into my face... I never fought back. I just took it as they say on the chin and tried to ignore it. That is, until the dark monster took over.

During primary school I ended up beating up the leader of the gang of bullies after many months of them bullying me. At least that's what his mother told my mother, and the bullying also mostly ceased after that. I do however not recall anything of it. When this former bully ended up becoming a friend, I accepted that too. What it did teach me was that sometimes violence is okay. Which is how I ended up slapping this bully during HS across the face after yet another bullying session. When the teacher confronted the two of us about it, I apologised to the bully. And that group of bullies were friendly ever after.


When to be friendly? When to be aggressive or even hostile? When to yell or remain calm? They're things one is supposed to learn along with other social skills as one grows up. As I found myself mostly hiding from the world ever since I was five, most of my knowledge came from books, and I found myself enamoured of a pacifist attitude. Always be friendly, always be helpful, never raise your voice or act hostile. Neither words nor stones will break my spirit.

The big tests for that attitude came first in the form of the supremely unhelpful attitude from medical personnel along with psychologists when it came to even acknowledging the fact that I have in fact an intersex body and a pretty unique type of intersex at that. To spend over a decade facing adults who feel qualified to demolish every single part of your self-image, sense of reality and ego in general, it makes you question a lot of things.

Another test came in the form of this woman who wormed her way into my life, using my offer to help her fix her laptop issues to make herself a part of my life, to the point where she somehow ended up being present at some job interviews that I did at the time. She convinced me that her parents were practically evil criminals and that I should help her escape from there. That ended up with us sharing the same apartment for months, and somehow she had made me believe that I loved her and that we were a couple.

I don't think it is normal for even couples if one of them ends up randomly staring at the other while the latter is taking a shower, or to only spend days watching TV and chatting online. She'd also tell me in a loud voice that everything that I liked or thought funny or interesting was stupid and uninteresting before going on a tirade about how stupid humans really are and how much better people like herself are.

She'd also force me to spend watching late-night TV with her so that I'd appear sleep-deprived at work every day and often had to force myself to stay awake during the day. In that state she got me to accompany her all around, to fulfil all her whims and essentially make me into her slave and property. This all came crashing down during another tirade from her towards me, which had me barricading myself in the bedroom while she was on the phone with my mother, telling my mom how bad things were going with me, but that she'd take care of it, no worries.

If one ever needs to know what it feels like to be part of a Stephen King story, there you got it. Think Misery, only with less cutting off of body parts.


After decades of finding monsters where one least expects them, it's not easy to go back to pretending that the world is safe again. Not with those monsters giggling to each other in the dark corners of one's mind, ready to pounce the moment I drop my guard. There has to be a way to deal with this situation beyond being eternally terrified, however.

I have found at this point that I hate feeling terrified, as well as all other feelings akin to it. There has to be nothing more pleasant than feeling safe and secure, being so at ease that you can just drop your guard and not worry for a while. As things are, I consider it a good day when I didn't feel completely unhappy or terrified that day. With monsters literally lurking right around the corner, one has to celebrate the little things in life, after all.


This should be the part where one wakes up, with a parent sitting on the edge of your bed to tell you that it is all okay, that monsters aren't real.


Maya