Mr. Brooks

I watched a movie last night. It was pretty intense. Not intense in that my adrenaline went through the roof or that I was on the edge of my seat. It was intense in the way that my mind raced.

It was a movie about a serial killer. A psychopathic killer who was addicted to the act of murder. He didn't like it. He didn't relish it. His alter ego did, but the man himself did not. His addiction pushed him to do horrible things even though he knew it was wrong.

He managed to give it up for two years, not killing anyone. He was straight for two years until one night he gave in once again. The scene where he murdered a couple showed how much his addiction had been suppressed. The scene after showed how horrified he was that he'd given in to this monster, to this side of him that he'd thought had been suppressed forever.

I think, sometimes, we all have our Marshall's. We all have that inner demon begging us to do things that we know are wrong. And I think that when we give in, that rush that we feel only feeds the addiction. And I think that even when we think we've suppressed such horrible inner demons, they're really just hiding, biding their time for another strike when we're vulnerable, when we're cocky and arrogant and think nothing can hurt us.

Fortunately for the people around me, I'm not a murderer or a psychopathic anything. But I've got my own addictions to certain actions, certain attitudes.

I'm addicted to this computer, for one thing. I tell myself I'll go outside, swim in the pool, run around the block. And my inner demon cries for the Internet. I give in, the addiction flares in response. I never see the light of day.

And I regret. I rage against the addiction. Someday. Someday soon, I'll suppress it for good.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.