The Howler Monkey

The Howler Monkey lives inside of me.  Always has.  I maintain, that at this point, he lives in a cage, put there from years of customer service.  He can't be trusted out in public in my line of work. 
He's pissed.  The cage that holds him is strong, padlocked, and he has a noose around his neck to try and keep in him line.  All of it.  He didn't realize that he was being put in this position, didn't realize it for years, but one day he woke up and realized that he hadn't been out in a while.  At first he just thought about it, thought, Hey, this sucks, being in this cage.  Then he tried to get out.  He shrieked, rattled the cage, flung poo, but he was in tight.
I don't claim to speak monkey, but I do.  I heard him in there, first just rattling his cage. but then he started speaking to me.  At first it was almost polite, a gentle, Hey, can I get out of here, please.  Then he got nasty, was cussin' at me, mostly along the lines of Let me the FUCK out of here, let me out, let me out!!! 
He was quiet for a while, realized he was kinda stuck there, but as is his nature, he couldn't sit still for that. 
It started one day with a low howl, always in the background, a long drawn out buzz that eventually became like white noise for me, and it made me sleepy.  Then there was more.  A shake to the soul, so to speak.  Banging and pounding and screaming, he wanted out.  He made promises that he would behave if I just let him out, just a little bit, to see what it felt like.  He tried to reason with me but monkey logic doesn't fit in with the nine to five grind.   He tried to tell me all the things that I was missing, all the wonders of the world that were at my fingertips, that I was turning my back on and I was being foolish.  Talk talk talk.  Now he is hoarse, his neck rubbed raw from the noose, blisters on his hands from rattleing the cage and jacking off in the corner to try and sooth the soul.  I can hear him whispering in there, randomly picking at his ass and desperately flinging poo because he can't give up. Let me out of here you fucker and so help me I will rip your fucking throat out.  So help me, you will pay for this.  If I ever get out of here you will pay.
The only other thing he really does is reach out from between the bars and grabs my spine and shakes me to the base of my brain.  It's a friggin' jolt, man.  I never know when he is going to do it, and all of a sudden there it is, a earth shattering slam, altering my reality and making me question my existence. 
The hairy bastard must have gotten ahold of some speed or something lately as the jolts are getting stronger and more frequent.  My reality is getting hazier and funkier and more (and less) less realistic.  More real, less real.  I think he has found the mainline to my heart, blocking off my arteries and depriving my brain of oxygen.  I am getting delirious.
I try to soothe the monkey.  I spank him. I offer him whiskey.  I give him vidodin and sleeping pills.  Somehow they don't have the desired affect.  They seem to have the opposite affect, instead of making him mellow, they somehow remind him even more that he is in a cage, has been in a cage for a long, long time.  The cage gets weaker the more I offer him.  I try to pretend he doesn't exist.  I pretend he is someone else, just for a while.  I act like everyone has a monkey and I ain't no different and everyone else has their monkey in control, and who am I to let my monkey out, to run free, in this world. 
Sometimes I even pretend my monkey is free, free to do what monkeys do.  I pretend that the things I do are wild and free, my monkey is just a greyback, a gorrila in the mist, and just doesn't have the energy to swing with the pretenders.  I wonder about them, the pretenders, the ones who seem to have never had their monkeys in cages.  Never seem to have to worry about what their monkey is going to come up with next.  Their monkeys are full of energy and a natural sight to behold.  I see these people and wonder how they have their monkeys in control, so well behaved in public.  How can they go out and do that, day after day, night after night, annd their monkeys recover so quickly... they get back up and fling some poo again at the next opportunity and don't seem the worse for wear.
Is my monkey so different?  Is he so unwell behaved and incorrigible?  Does my monkey really cause so much pain and suffering that he needs to be locked up?  It isn"t comfortable having him locked up, wouldn't it be better to set him free?  Perhaps there would be some bloodshed, at first, some tears and laughter, but wouldn't he (and I) be happier in the long run?  He would wear himself out shortly, I bet... get back to being a well behaved and exciting member of society, life of the party, as they say. 
Haven't I just imagined the damage that could be done?  I seem to remember times when he was free... It wasn't so bad, was it?  Sure, grown men cried, women screamed in fury, there was much unhappiness, and there was love.  I remember my monkey being somewhat level headed, noone ever came to any physical harm... 
I feel sad, and oh so bad, that things have come to this.  And truth be told, noone ever told me to lock my bad boy away, it was just something I thought I had to do, something that I had seen other people do... and customer service, there is always that.  Can't be flinging poo when you are representing the people that give you the kool-aid.