Summary

The author reflects on their identity as a "monster" through the perceptions of various individuals in their life, ultimately concluding that they are a complex individual shaped by their experiences and relationships.

Abstract

The article titled "How Much Of A Monster Am I?" delves into the author's self-assessment of their character based on a question posed by a reader. The author evaluates their persona from multiple perspectives, including that of their pets, family members, clients, and animal abusers. They acknowledge their temper and verbal prowess, as well as their advocacy for animals. The author recognizes that their self-image is influenced by their history of trauma and abuse, and while they reject the label of a malicious monster, they accept that they possess monstrous qualities in the sense of being a product of nightmares and a reflection of the cruelty they've faced. The article concludes with the author's introspection that they are not a bad person, but rather a complex being whose "monster score" is indeterminate due to their multifaceted nature.

Opinions

The author believes they are perceived very positively by their dogs, with a rating of negative 337 million, due to the unconditional love received.
Cats' perception of the author varies, with one cat consistently viewing them as a monster (100 on the scale).
The author's husband is seen as a protective figure who would not rate them as a monster, while the author's mother views them negatively, well above 100 on the monster scale.
The author's father and brother have a more nuanced view, with the brother seeing them between one and ten, influenced by their close relationship and shared experiences.
Clients at work generally view the author positively, though some remain dissatisfied, leading to a self-assigned monster score of 15.
The author is fiercely protective of animals and has no tolerance for animal abusers, whom they consider true monsters.
Religious individuals may view the author negatively due to their atheistic views.
Participants in the author's writing prompts are aware of their unconventional mindset and enjoy their boundary-pushing content.
The author sees themselves as a good person who is kind until provoked, after which they can be formidable.
They acknowledge their temper and verbal skills, which they use without regret, contributing to their self-perceived monster score.
The author recognizes their complexity, shaped by trauma, scars, and the positive influences of loved ones, making it difficult to assign a definitive monster score.
Despite acknowledging monstrous aspects, the author does not see themselves as a bad person, but rather as a multifaceted individual with both positive and negative traits.

How Much Of A Monster Am I?

Depends on who you ask… but someone asked me to decide.

Grr. Roar. And stuff. Photo rights belong to me.

I actually wasn’t trying to look annoyed in that picture but since I do — it fit the piece.

Kate Golden asked me a question in a comment on one of my pieces.

My question is this: How much of a monster are you, on a scale of 1–100?

I did not answer her. I told her the question intrigued me so much that I was going to respond by writing an article about it.

How much of a monster am I?

It’s a difficult question to answer because I am so many different people depending on where I am, who I’m with, and whether or not I’m angry.

In the eyes of my dogs, I am a negative 337 million. They look at me with so much love that they can’t contain it within their bodies and jump up to cover my face in sticky slobber.

Three of my four cats would shift their responses based on the proximity of the question to mealtime. If it’s one minute past dinner time and I’m sitting there asking questions and not putting the food in the dish — I’m well above 100. Most of the time I probably linger around 10 to them. I’m not a monster but sometimes I dull their murder mittens with claw trimmers and I put them in tiny outfits.

But I also provide toys, comfy sleeping places, yummy treats, and lots of chin scratches.

My fourth cat — to her, I’m always at 100. She despises me. She hates all living beings, human or animal, that are not my husband. He is perfect and I’m apparently some kind of awful demon creature that keeps taking the attention of her human.

I rescued her and she stole my husband.

My life is strange.

We won’t ask my husband to give me a number of his own accord. He doesn’t need that kind of stress. He’d just say that I’m not a monster. And I’m not.

Most of the time.

At work, I’d probably hover around a 15. Most of my clients like me, I do my best to help them, and I’m super friendly (when I’m paid to be). Some people just start off mad and stay mad. Sometimes there’s just nothing you can say to change that but in their eyes, it’s always your fault.

I get it. I don’t let it get to me. But to them, I’m probably a monster. There just aren’t tons of them that I can’t de-escalate (glad that my advanced psychology degree is good for something) so 15 seems like a fair number.

To my mother, I’m well above the 100 mark. She didn’t want me to exist and I had the audacity to be born and breathe. I’m the villain in all of her stories even though it was she who abused me.

To my father, I am typically maybe a 5 as he knows that I have a quick temper, and trying not to step on my tripwires can sometimes be tricky. Sometimes I’m a one — Daddy’s Little Princess forever and always. Other times, when my temper flares and I remind him of my mother — well, that number goes up. How far… I’m not sure I want to know.

To my brother, I linger between one and ten. I can get on his nerves but that’s what little sisters are supposed to do. We’re incredibly close and very alike in many ways so for him to call me a monster, he’d have to look in a mirror first and also wonder if the blood he gave me from his own veins altered me at all. I have more of his blood than my own because of what I went through at 16, so he’d have to really examine if that plays a role in my monster score.

No force on earth or anywhere else you believe in will save you from my wrath (all verbal, never physical) if you harm an animal. I’m passionate about my animal advocacy. But I don’t care what animal abusers think of me because I know the real monster in that little equation. Ingrid Newkirk — the head of PETA, who I would rate well above 100 on the monster scale — got to feel the sting of my verbal venom when I met her.

I do not tolerate people who harm animals.

Religious people would have an interesting number for me and my strong stance against all religions and my atheism that I never hide.

People who read and participate in the prompts I write wouldn’t necessarily rate me as a monster — at least not completely — but they absolutely know that I have a twisted mind and an… interesting… way of looking at the world. I love pushing boundaries and buttons every chance I get.

I tend to be an acquired taste. Some people love me instantly. Some people hate me instantly. But with most people… I need to grow on them.

Like a fungus.

That just leaves me. Sitting here trying to come up with my own number.

I’m not a monster of 100-level proportions and I’m not as innocent and sweet of 1-level proportions.

I am a good person. I help animals. I’m the nicest person you will ever meet until you piss me off and then… you should run. I am a tangled disaster of trauma and scars that barely qualifies as human more often than not but I don’t know that I’d call myself a monster. I can easily see myself that way though.

I can look in the mirror through my mother’s eyes and see the disappointing worthless waste of a human she believes me to be and tells me that I am.

I can also see through the eyes of my husband, father, and brother. Not as easily though…

I wish I could see through the eyes of my dogs but no humans are capable of seeing things in that unconditional type of way.

I know my temper and I know my ability to shred people using only my words and there are times that I’m proud of that. And that makes the number higher than if I did it and then felt bad. That just never happens.

I am some Frankenstein concoction of my father’s princess, my dogs’ hero, my husband’s love, my brother’s blood, and my mother’s monster. Throw in a dash of entitled clients, a splash of righteous indignation of the religious, a pinch of people who’ve pissed me off, and the finishing touch of the few people I’m still growing on. Somewhere in that mess is my monster score.

The truth is that I can’t score myself because I can’t see myself. Not really. Not completely. I see only what I’ve been shown. I see through the eyes of body dysmorphia, emotional dysregulation from a lifetime of abuse, and the echoes of the scars from the cruel brutality I’ve endured.

I don’t see (or possess) the strength that others point out in me.

I don’t see much at all, honestly.

I know I’m not a monster in the way that this question intended. I don’t harm people on purpose. I’m not unnecessarily cruel or spiteful.

But in the other sense of the word… the scary thing that no one wants to face… I’m definitely that kind of monster. I’m the broken damaged result of people’s worst nightmares and it’s easier to turn away.

Yes, I am a monster.

At a full 100 on the scale.

I’m just not a bad person. I’m barely a person at all.