There are parts of me that that I cannot control. They are sometimes violent, sometimes lustful, sometimes passionate, but always intense. Trying to control these parts of me end up ripping me apart from the inside out.
Instead I focus on not letting them control me. It is a subtle difference to be sure, but a critical one. One tries to stop the impulses, the scratching inside my veins to be the things I shouldn’t be.
The other accepts the things I shouldn’t be but am and sips them from affecting who I need to pretend to be.
Subtle indeed, and if you don’t understand this, or have never had to consider it, then I am happy for you. It means your demons and monsters aren’t so close to the surface.
My control is good. It has to be. I’m just careful about what it is I’m trying to control.