Are Inner Demons Hereditary

I had always thought of internal demons as a poetic term to either personify anger or serve as a scapegoat for past regrets. However, even labeling them as scapegoats barely scratches the surface of the door leading to understanding let alone punches a hole to break the damn thing! Hold it, before I get ahead of myself and end up satisfying whom/what I shouldn't, let's start at the beginning.

In my family, throughout the years, my dad was known to be a strong person, but he was also known to have a temper that would make Mount Vesuvius look like a mellow pothead. He'd erupt verbal acts of violence in one direction and physical acts of violence in another, but, as a parent, he tried what he felt to be his best. He, at times, behaved like a normal parent allegedly did from giving me embarrassing nicknames like Watermelon (due to cravings my mom had before I was born) to enjoying intertwining fingers with me when we held hands, and even trying to bond with me and my brother in the later years during certain rough times. I ended up building a wall between me and him, not only to keep more drama from sprouting, but because it was no secret that I was allegedly more like my dad than my mom growing up, with some obvious differences. Even though that was the case, I knew of things that we had in common (such as nose, lips, eyes, majority of school history, and most importantly, anger issues) and wanted to evade being like him since I was conscious enough to pay attention to my mom's side of all that happened. Ask anyone, I've had my share of anger issues, but I'm hopefully not long gone since I'm aware of them and actually try to handle them.

However, with my family's alleged sense of humor and sense of teaching me things, well, let's just say they're at the point where they are too bias to acknowledge how they are another pile of fuel to the fire. My family has had a habit of insulting me and subtly being in my face about paths I try to evade and things out of my comfort zone and claiming that they are joking around in the hopes that it is just enough to gloss the memory over for me to keep it from being a hated memory of mine. Such as my mom giving me reminders that she'd have extra help if I were to drive when she clearly knows I'm too nervous to and want to avoid risking damage. Or the time everyone claimed I got alcohol for Christmas when I actually got a bunch of scented candles. As for discipline, every little mistake I make is enough to make me feel like I was on the verge of death row. And what's worse is that my family knows I have an altered way of looking at things, they know my memory isn't the best all the time, and they know it's hard for me to let most things go. I bet they would be happy to hear that, thanks to them and a bunch of others like them, the fire is fed by dry wads of, not just anger, but tints of self-worth-questioning, sadness, the inability to talk my feelings out to a person who causes these feelings to occur, and the belief that Charlie Brown could stop being a fuck up before I ever could. I'd tell them how I'm feeling, but that wouldn't make a difference as they would acknowledge my feelings for only a small period of time. Besides, it's all a game to them. I just know it. They are all well aware of my perspective of my surroundings being different from theirs and the fact that I want to be nothing like... him, but they're all just trying me to see how long it would take before I finally break down. I'm Bruce Banner acknowledging my anger without wanting to unleash it and they are all just the dicky Tony Stark wanting to be entertained. They have no idea how scared I am that the apple might not fall far from the tree. They can't imagine how much I feel crying is appropriate when I see a reflection of myself in the bathroom mirror that is half covered in darkness (something I never mentioned since I thought of it as a fear manifesting itself in my mind). Yea, it's all fun and games for them, but they won't realize the idiots they really are until it's too late. Oh, who am I kidding? Until a few days ago, I was the retard for thinking I could easily avoid this.

I was home alone when I woke up. Everyone else was either at work or school, which was perfect for a loner such as myself. I did my usual bathroom routine, which involved brushing my teeth and washing my face along with the occasional moment where I talk to myself, and I looked into the mirror to be greeted with a reflection of me half covered in darkness, as usual. However, when I continued to stare into the mirror, I could've sworn I saw the darkness that resided on half of my reflection peel itself off of my body and possibly float behind my head. I quickly turned my head to see it for myself, but saw nothing. When I looked back into the mirror, I was surprised to see that it was still looming behind my head in the mirror. I've always had a controllable imagination growing up, but I never imagined anything so vivid. I had no idea what to think as I saw that darkness. A thought came to me after a few seconds: if I were to fill my mind with something positive, maybe the darkness might be out of sight and mind. I closed my eyes really tight and took a deep breath before singing lyrics that I felt might help me calm down: "rescue me in the middle of my darkest hour, time will tell I never really had the power. Some say it's easier to give up on it, I say it's time to rescue me". I kept singing that song portion over and over again and occasionally opened my eyes to see if I was making progress, but it seemed like that darkness in the mirror kept getting darker and bigger every time I opened my eyes. During some of the last few times I was opening my eyes, I was almost certain it seemed to take the form of a man. I closed my eyes tighter and gripped onto the sink while singing again. As I finished singing the portion again, I felt something touch my arm, which caused me to flinch, and it slid down my arm to my hand...intertwining fingers with me and gripping onto my hand. I looked at my reflection to see the dark form of a man behind me. It seemed more like a 3D shadow that felt familiar even though I tried to pass it off as ridiculous. I took some deep breaths to keep myself calm, but I saw that thing's "head" come close to my ear and freeze in its position. It then whispered something to me harshly that made me wish I had the guts to cry right then, there, and now: "You can't escape. No matter how hard you try, the watermelon doesn't roll far from the vine".

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