The Monster Within..

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The Monster Within..

Once in a while, something happens to me. Something unpleasant, unexplainable and without warning.

I turn into a monster.

It can happen mid-way through the best night of my life, during a new experience or while I’m at an old haunt.  It cannot be predicted.

I call this Psycho Syndrome.

The only consistency is that it happens when I’m drunk, which I like to think makes it very very slightly more acceptable.

I like to tell myself, also, that this happens to us all.  You know, the nights where you unjustifiably go completely off the rails with hatred for someone or something.  I’ve been known to completely trash my room in order to find an old phone number a friend had hidden from me, for use only in emergencies on these nights.  You know, the nights you recall with horror in the morning as you see 48 dialled calls to your ex boyfriend and cruel messages written in anger.  God only knows what you’ve left on the answer phone..

What I hate the most is my inability to predict when these nights where I will turn into the monster will happen.  It’s like occasionally, the clock strikes 2.30am, and I go insane.  I literally turn into a childish, nonsensical, attention seeking, hysterical and just overreacting idiotic girl.

Often, I will look for reasons why in the morning.  I used to try to explain it away somehow, but I’ve since realized that this is futile.  Most of the time, there is no warning.  It can happen regardless of whether I’ve pulled or not.  Regardless of whether I wanted to or not.  Regardless of whether I’m having a good time or not.

Please don’t misunderstand this.  This is not all the time.  This is not even the majority of the times I go out.  This is only on an odd occasion.

Sometimes, I’m so excited by a night out, maybe it’s been a long time coming, or I particularly enjoy the group of people I’m going with, or the place we’re going to.  But that can’t prevent it.  And sometimes I’m not looking forward to the evening at all, I’m going because I feel I have to.  But that,too, will not be a catharsis for me to go off the rails.

I become utterly unreasonable.  Looking for an argument, and I am not what one would describe as lairy.  I wake up the next morning and there is no explanation to my actions or spitefulness.   I ruin MY night and those of other people when I turn into this creature.

When one thinks back to their last night of uni, it’s usually fondly.  One remembers the good times with close friends, combined with the celebration of leaving and the urgency of knowing it might never happen again.  The last night with best friends in your common city.  For me, however, I try not to remember my last night.  I try to focus on the night before, or the one before that, pretending that they were the big nights where it all ended . My last night at uni was one of these where my inner monster made an appearance.  I decided I hated everyone and everything.  I saw a guy my friend had been kissing with another girl, told him he was a dick and then told her. I’m not sure why, why would I even care?  Nothing was going on with them, so telling just knocked her confidence a bit. What a bitch.  I stormed off on another friend telling her something stupid.  I ended up sat on a bench outside the SU, crying my eyes out over absolutely nothing – I don’t think I even knew what at the time – shaking with anger and texting the world telling them I hated my university, everything about it and everyone there.

Firstly, I was leaving so surely, if I hated it so much, I should have been glad?  Why wait until my last night there to cry about how much I HATED it?  That doesn’t make sense.  Secondly, I did not hate everyone there at all.  I had a fantastic time at university and knew I’d made some of the best friends I’d ever make.  I loved uni, and I always loved the nights out at uni.

There have been a few nights where it’s seemed like its man related, but when I consider all the nights like this, maybe the men have just been a coincidence.

I was working in another part of Asia, where I had a good group of expat friends, one of which things had got a bit complicated with. Two nights out in a row I went psycho, storming out of bars and clubs in new areas, streaming with tears and getting into taxis without telling a soul.  Nobody knew where I’d gone, but I’d just ignore my phone calls, leaving them to worry because I’d suddenly turned into the monster with no warning.  Friends put my emotional behavior on these nights down to the complications with the boy, and I accepted the that probably had something to do with it.  But he’d done nothing wrong, and I wasn’t in love at all – maybe we’re too quick to explain away our over the top and uncontrolled behavior by a man messing with our head?  I remember thinking at the time I was declining worried calls from my friends, that they deserved to be worried about me, they deserved not to know I had left.  Why I thought this, I cannot explain.

So, the other weekend, the same thing happened.  I was having a great night, and I’d had a great day.  I was in a fantastic mood, I’d made new friends and I’d got a tan.  I’d pulled, and he was coming home with me until that terrible person inside me surfaced unexpectedly.  This ended up in a pretty harsh argument with him, I remember telling him he was a twat, and when he questioned me as to why, I had no explanation: he just was.  I was slightly sober enough to force myself over it, and the problem was gone. ..For about thirty minutes.  After that, it was back and with a vengeance.  I told him he was NOT coming home with me, no matter what. Although I did still want him to.  I don’t know what I was thinking?

In the end, I ended up making him as angry with me and I unreasonably was with him.  And so, he did not come home with me.  Which honestly was probably a good thing, but as a new friend, I have probably come across as an absolute psycho.  Not a fun new expat living nearby.  Nope, a psycho he should avoid and never invite out.  I’m currently struggling to find a way to rectify this, and just blindly hoping that he can’t remember…..

What I don’t understand is WHY this happens?  WHY do I do it?  When I’m running out of bars and declining calls, I’m doing so consciously.  Why do I think this is a good idea? Why do I purposely ruin my night?  What is it that makes me act so damn pathetically???  Do I need psychological help?

Miss L

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