The monster within us is thought of as uncivilised and a detachment from ordered life. In extremes, it is even thought of as a rebellion against quietude, a marked threat to peace and an element that is undesired in conscious activation — but as Frankenstein was misunderstood, so too are our primitive elements.
The default manifestation of control is suppression. We all have monsters inside of us, and mine is ferocious. Nobody ever sees it, because I embrace it. I trust in the impetus of his rage, it is sourced from truth and that truth must be honoured. When the monster presents, I ask what it needs, and soon it tells me what matters in my heart.
The mistake people make in controlling their monster is by denying its existence, by attempting to rise above it and craft an antithesis. In doing so what occurs is not balance, but a power struggle between warring parties. Picture a confused man with an angel and devil on his shoulders.
The monster isn’t even a monster at all. It’s a form of untrammelled will: of power, or influence and ability to affect the world. When it is perceived as a monster it is seen as destructive, but all creative faculties are. It is expressing the faculty through a constructive outlet that changes the result.
When Uncle Ben tells Peter Parker in the Spiderman films “with great power comes great responsibility”, he did not mean leave the suit at home until you are in your mid-twenties. He meant that if you have said power, you better use it before it uses you. This is reflected later with the Venom suit.
The nature of genuine development is organic and immersive, raising all elements to a point of conscious and unobstructed flow. It is not a compartmentalisation that results in an artificial version of yourself that meets with external criteria. That is tantamount to denying your nature.
You become your own Frankenstein, but without the heart to embrace being different.