Hulk by Clementine von Radics
Bruce Banner was not always The Hulk. He became that way as a result of a failed experiment with a Gamma Bomb. Most of us, I think have some failure we can point to in our past. “This,” we say, “This is why I’m monstrous.”
The Hulk does not hulk out randomly. Only when he’s stressed, or angry. When Bruce Banner disappears into the other guy, he doesn’t remember being Bruce Banner, He’s just some wild force of nature who can’t control his hands.
Having an anxiety attack feels like living through death. A person should not be able to endure that kind of fear and keep breathing. But still, every time my lungs and heart betray me. I keep not dying.
The Hulk can’t kill himself. He has tried. It is so hard to live half monster, to hurt everything you love by trying to protect it wrong.
I keep trying to protect you from me. From the nights when I drink the whole bottle, From the days I don’t get out of bed and just hide from everything. I don’t Deal With Things well. I’m not Good At Being An Adult.
When I get scared I can’t control my hands, I would do anything to make myself feel better. Even hurt the ones who are trying to save me.
When I calm down, when I can breathe again, I feel like a superhero at the end of the movie. When the war is over, and the bad guy is gone, and he has to walk home through the wreckage of the city he destroyed by trying to be a savior.
If I am being honest, I know I can’t save you. I can’t even save myself. The thing about the Hulk is he would give anything to be less interesting.
To be normal, to never again wake up naked and lonely, staring at the destruction with no one to blame but himself.
