I'll be the first to say that using a description derived from fiction is cheesy at best, but it's accurate enough that I don't particularly care. The Dark Passenger, as described by Jeff Lindsay's uber-popular serial killer Dexter Morgan, is real enough. And while I suspect that the Passenger manifests differently for each of us that know him (or it, since I can't imagine it feels male to everyone), it's always felt male to me. I've known him since I was a kid, and I suspect I'll know him 'til the day I die.
The Dark Passenger is like the boogeyman waiting in the dark that comes when my inner light is switched off. That's the best way I can describe it. I'm not an unfeeling, uncaring monster all of the time; there's quite a bit of light and love in me. But my wiring is damaged, and it doesn't take much to flip that inner circuit breaker. And when that switch has been flipped, my light is just... gone, and my Passenger rears up out of the darkness to fill the void left by the part of me that gives a damn. I have to reconnect with people and things I do give a damn about to flip that switch and regain my light. It's just hard to find the breaker box in the dark...
Yes, I realize that I have serious dissociative issues. But just to clarify, I'm not a serial killer, and I've never hurt a person. I've never even killed an animal that wasn't used for food. Now, ask me whether I want to.
If you were standing in front of me, looking into my oh-so-pretty blue eyes, I'd lie to your face. "Of course not!" I'd say. Or, "oh no, I respect human life far too much."
Except... I don't. I respect individuals based on their worth to the species and to the world we inhabit, but there are hundreds of people I've met--and thousands more that I haven't--that I would secretly enjoy seeing on a slab somewhere. And when my light is off, it's fun to think of all the things I could do with them in the dark.
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