Some time in your life, have you ever believed that there’s an evil living inside you? And at some point, have you ever tried to kill it? Perhaps many times you tried to be good. You have good intentions but somehow it makes you feel like a fraud. As if evil is all you are and there’s nothing you can do to change it. I have, so many times. I’ve also failed so many times.
Just like everyone else, I was born innocent. I only wanted to do good and be good. But being a quiet kid, you get bullied a lot. Having abusive parents who turn on you instead of protecting didn’t help either. I felt like a snail without a shell. Alone, vulnerable, and hopeless to escape. When you’re on your own, no matter how good you want to be, eventually, you will fight back and this is where it all began for me. I saw the world as a land full of demons. People who hurt and intimidate the weak. At some point in my life, I was one of the weak. Until one day, my mother told me, “You’re a demon” and I began seeing things on a different perspective. I’m not a victim anymore, I’ve already turned myself into a demon.
Without anyone protecting me from people who constantly pick on me, I turned violent. I’ve become more aggressive than anyone could imagine from a fragile and quiet little girl who cries every time her father leaves the classroom. I made people bleed, broke some bones, vomit blood, and I was the grade school student who brought a knife in class. I have threatened to kill people and destroyed them with my sharp tongue. It is only when I’ve grown into an adult and looked back did I realize how fucked up I was. Little quiet girl in a skirt, a grade school uniform, bangs and bob haircut, carrying a knife in her backpack. I wanted to ask her, “What made you this way?”
I reached high school and turned into a war freak. I would make friends with the weak ones and try to protect them. I believed I was doing it to protect myself and the people who reminded me so much of my old self. But another part of me knows just how much I miss the feeling of hurting someone, that maybe I’m trying to find an excuse to do that. I was addicted to the rush, the adrenaline, the rage, that feeling of danger you feel in your heart that puts you into “kill mode”. The feeling of everything turning dark and just letting go. People feared me and my temper. I built a reputation that my anger knows no limits. This didn’t stop the bullies from provoking me.
I remember pinning two girls against the wall at once, each of my hand around their neck squeezing and pushing so hard they can barely breathe. I remember kicking a boy in the stomach and then hitting him with a metal chair as soon as he crouches down from the pain. Of course, I tried to change all these. I knew that they are bad, they are bullies, but none of that justifies me hurting them back. Being feared is good because almost no one tries to touch you and would avoid getting on your nerves but being feared made honesty elusive for me. You walk into a room and you know the smiles are lies. Every time someone tries to talk to you, you can feel their nervous smiles and their painful effort not to offend you in any way. I didn’t want that.
I tried to become less violent. My defense turned from physical violence to sarcasm. I tried meditation and practiced stoicism. I felt good for some time. I felt more in control with my emotions and avoided doing stupid things in the heat of the moment. But sometimes, people still provoke me. People seem to have a built-in detector that allows them to sense when you are trying to change yourself for the better and they are all so excited to screw it all up. They always push your boundaries like leeches thirsty for a negative reaction. The more you ignore them, the more they seek and try desperate to get your attention. And they don’t care however they get it. They don’t care how much you work hard to be a better person. They don’t care how much one burst of anger makes you hate yourself. They never want to see you be good.
I started acknowledging the fact that I am a demon. I just embraced every bad name that people gave me but I never picked on the weak. I never took revenge on others or bullied the quiet ones like what people did to me. I refuse to continue the cycle and create more fucked up people like me. You can say that I’m a demon who so desperately try not to procreate. During my time of trying to be good and inspiring others with my work, discipline, and morals, I helped so many. I’ve been called so many good names and even put into some kind of pedestal for being the way I am – calm, quiet, intelligent, and humble. But these same people I helped are often the same people who drag me down the wrong path all over again. Maybe it’s jealousy of some sort. Maybe they struggle to reach the same place I am so they drag me down instead.
All I know is it’s hard to be good, to be really good, not to pretend or show people that you’re good. Sometimes, it’s even harder as if people are ganging up altogether to destroy your plan. I know someday, no provocation will work anymore with me. I will try and work really hard to get to that point.