Behind the Bars of Misery
I am the angry voice in your head
For eternity and a day, all I’ve ever wanted was solitude. Birthed from abuse and fury, my life is a horror film. Cursed to live in a feeble version of myself, my captor's agony forged my will. Though I hail from the deepest pit in a man’s soul, my darkness is heaven-sent when compared to the atrocities put before us. Bashed, beaten, and bruised was for dinner if I stepped out of line, courtesy of my father.
Seemingly proud of his actions, my sperm donor transformed a beautiful home into a living hell. The monster under the bed was in the living room, striking my mother with no remorse. Neglect and negativity were my siblings, and to make things worse, I was caged inside of someone who I would consider “Puny”.
Synonymous with a weakling
God’s best prank is that I’m held back by someone I could kill with the flick of a finger. Who could fathom that the weakest man I know has the audacity to give me a curfew? I have the strength of God, but bound to a person who personifies apprehension. Forcefully, my story is relegated to serve as an aggressive version of an imaginary bestfriend.
With all of these stipulations, I ask myself-
Is it okay to be treated as only a nuisance?
Is my life worth nothing more than to be Bruce’s furious hallucinations?
Is it imperative that I must look through the eyes of a man who is just as broken as I?
While I’m rotting away in a mental hellscape, he’s able to build connections and feel the warmth of another. This madman openly curses my name even though I am his prisoner. This world has been nothing but misery; nevertheless, I’m the one who’s stowed away.
He complains about trivial instances, yet I’m the one sentenced to bear the weight of all our pain. As I live this nightmare, my one certainty is that my keeper has nothing but utter disdain for my entire existence.
The guard has it out for me
Where I lay my head could be considered a torture chamber. We argue daily for my right to feel a breeze. No matter where our journey takes us, I won’t be able to make my own choices. I ponder how someone who has it all still loathes my presence. Even to the point where he’d go on a blind date with suicide.
![Bruce Banner calls suicide prevention hotline of Christmas [Hulk:Last call] : r/Marvel](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!RPUO!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fd2623533-42a6-4cbd-b03e-836d67037616_1003x1594.png "Bruce Banner calls suicide prevention hotline of Christmas [Hulk:Last call] : r/Marvel")
Dedicating a portion of his life to banish me from existence, a scientist's creativity knows no bounds. Spitting out bullets or pills, no matter how many times he tries to throw himself off a cliff, I will land in the rubble.
It shocks me that he wouldn’t see me as a blessing, yet here I am having to transform to make sure he doesnt marry Lady Death. Viewed as the demon but never the angel, no one can understand my situation.
Violetly Misunderstood
The road to being treated fairly is usually painted with bloodshed. Most people I come across treat me as if I’m a convict on the run. The green gladiator is summoned for emergencies exclusively, only needed when all hope is lost.
I wonder why life turned out the way it did and how to improve. Being the danger everyone talks about, my presence alone shatters man’s fragile environment. Even when my intentions are pure, devastation is always around the corner
I am the bull in a tea shop, and to feel the heat of sunlight causes a military response. I’m not wanted by those who ended up cherishing Banner, even though I never asked to be here. My entire being is composed of raw emotions and little thought. With the ability to channel pure feelings into strength, I am more emotionally in tune than most would think. I've received every hit, insult, and punishment felt by Bruce, and those scars live with me to this day.
How does one move on from their dad being the devil? Baby Banner and I are trauma-bonded as we share the same wounds and lacerations. His suffering was mine to have in abundance. Created from the anger of failing to protect, I’m here not by choice but necessity. Pushing me to cherish being by myself.
Solitude
Despite everyone assuming my soul focus is rage, to be alone would be a gift from God. From having my skin ripped apart by insects to getting my eyes plucked out by vultures, my will is the only thing keeping me afloat. Having a healing factor is useless when this is my reality.
Sadly, isolation provides the sanctuary required to stop-
To stop the tedious suicide attempts.
To halt the pain of severed connections.
To relinquish all responsibility.
With no one around, there’s no one to blame. With the noise gone, I can finally live in peace. Forgone is the public's judgment of my gifts and appearance, allowing me to create my own cheerfulness.
I wouldn’t be seen as a weapon by others or an obstacle by Banner. Society’s forsaken can’t take advantage of my ignorance of the ways of man’s world. People have been nothing but tragic, all the more to fall deeper into sadness.
Lean into my Despair.
The majority of the world would love to see me in a grave, as all I can do is survive the madness of my circumstance. Born from rage but built to protect is the ethos of my creation. As my father slapped me across the room, I didn’t have the means to bring about the carnage required.
Bruce and I have always been on the wrong page, let alone in the same library. But what if we both succumb to the despair and embrace the terror we were meant to be? This world may break if we riot against the system, as we find out what would happen if we lean into our destructive nature.
Please check out Part 1 and subscribe for free!