Reflections: There are Monsters in my Closet (Part 1/6)

I'm a grown man in his thirties and some days I'm afraid to open my closet.

I don't mean in the cold-sweat and elevated-heart-rate kind of fear. More of the conflicted and existential variety. You see, there are monsters in my closet.

I know, crazy right?

Some were given to me, but most were inherited as part of my family's legacy. They were meant to help and protect us from the unbridled chaos of the world, ever-lurking just under the surface waiting to boil over. A safeguard against the tyranny and evil of men. Or at least that's what I was told growing up.

And for a long time, I believed that somewhat.

Then two years ago, a monster ate my father.