Being a Monster

Nonfiction

With the new Godzilla film coming out and all the amazing clips I’ve seen thus far, I’ve been thinking lately about monsters. Why do we like monsters? There are the surface level characteristics that we like: the bizarre physical features; the city smashing physical abilities; the inevitable battles they get involved in. But there is something emotional there too.

For myself at least, I can identify with monsters. I’m on prednisone right now for this nasty case of poison ivy, and, as the doctor told me would happen, as I wean off the prednisone I become incredibly irritable. I’m not sure if I could destroy Tokyo, but I’m pretty sure I could do some damage in Edison, New Jersey.

This isn’t really unique for me either.  For as long as I can remember I’ve had trouble with anger management. My mother actually recalls frequently how as a small child I would lose my shit in my play pen and fling toys across the room. Growing up was hard. I embarrassed myself with my anger and I alienated people.

I’ve gotten better with age (yeah, I’m like cheese), but it’s still there. I scream at neighbors for driving too fast in front of my house, I get in confrontations with rude people on the train, and I go batshit insane when I lose things. Sorry guys.

The first time I saw the original Godzilla movie, I cried at the end. I didn’t understand all this at the age of five or six, but I think to some degree I understood where Godzilla was coming from. He was pissed off. Maybe, he was scared. Maybe, as recent commercials have suggested, he was just hungry. Whatever it was, I think he and I are kindred spirits. We’re not hateful, just grumpy.

-SM

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