I’m liking this story far more than I probably ought to.  (I posted the first draft a bit ago.)  As for this part, I’m not too sure about it.  The repetition here is sort of supposed to show the narrator’s fear is keeping him from thinking clearly, but I think I may have overdone it a bit.   Suggestions?

I looked at the costume in its box and tried to hold out against the temptation to wear it again.  I didn’t want to wear it—it wanted me to wear it.  It compelled me.  I didn’t want to wear it.  I had only worn it three times since I’d gotten it, and each time…

The fear was exciting—addictive.  I didn’t want it to be.  I didn’t want to think about it.

I knew if I thought about it, it would get into my mind again.

And if it got into my mind, I would wear the costume again.

And if I wore the costume, the monster it was would get hungry again.

And I was already running out of stuff.

But I couldn’t stop looking.  The fear was exciting—addictive.  It compelled me.