Blue Eyes. Black Heart.
Has anyone ever touched you with the intent to inflict grievous bodily harm, with the absolute disregard for your health and welfare that can only come from someone who just couldn't care less whether you lived or died, as long as he wasn't held responsible? I'm not talking a slap here or a punch there, I'm talking a 1'x2' coming, in the dark, from nowhere, with no warning and no sound until wood finds flesh.
If you haven't, stop reading, you can't understand, and won't be made to understand by reading further, it'll just be heartbreaking or titillating, depending on whether you are compassionate or totally insensitive.
I've been coming to terms with a lot of my less pleasing characteristics lately. Part of my disposition is hard wired, but mostly, my temperament is the direct result of fist on flesh, or some weapon chosen for versatility, watching siblings being pounded, waiting for the next attack (and there was always a next attack), and knowing, being reminded every day, and many nights, that the bastard could do whatever he wanted to me, whenever he wanted, and I was only going to stop him by escaping or dying.
Not that I didn't fantasize. My body was battered, but my imagination ran riot. I planned a hundred, maybe a thousand ways to stop him, hurt him, kill him. I knew that I could never get away with any of my vicious daydreams, but they allowed me some vengeance, at least in my soul. My fantasies were vile, and had I mentioned them to anyone, I'm sure I would have been labelled a troubled child and not just "trouble".
I am a violent person masquerading as a pacifist. My father taught me to suck it up, put all feelings aside, but I also learned that brutality is the ultimate power. I will never be the victim of any man again. I know how to defend myself now, and may Goddess help anyone who tries anything. I'm just afraid that once started, I'd never stop.
Retribution became a big deal to me as a very small child. I couldn't stop my father (or my mother) but there were other wrongs to be righted. I settled scores for any unfairness I witnessed, regardless of whether I was involved. I brought myself a whole world of hurt doling out reprisals for stuff that was none of my business. One teacher actually broke her pointer on my leg, and screamed at me, "What are you, inhuman? Do you not feel pain? Do you like pain?" I remember thinking "pointer, amateur".
I learned to nurse a grudge, forgetting no slight, regardless how insignificant. One was my ally or my enemy. I became the anti-bully, protecting the small from the big, the weak from the powerful. I fought like a tiger to protect my little brother from threats, both real and imagined, and I have the scars to prove that I won the battle of wills with years worth of teachers to keep my brother safe. They had no weapons in their arsenals scarier than my father's hands. I had no weapons at all.
I developed into an angry young woman, embracing rabid, uncompromising feminism. I went from identifying as a Lesbian to acting and reacting as I believed a Dyke should. As an adult woman, I am still angry and full of hatred, but my rages are fewer and more centred. I don't go looking for physical altercations anymore, but I am a sarcastic bitch who storms through life with balled fists and clenched teeth all the time.
I hate. My anger is not distaste, it is violent abhorrence of many things: child abuse, child poverty, child sexual abuse, violence against women, systemic racism, homophobia, religious intolerance. I have overblown, fierce reactions to being questioned about my actions, although those reactions are generally delayed, and I blow up over something stupid and unrelated hours or days later.Just like almost every other humam being I also get pissed at traffic, stupid people, empty milk cartons left in the fridge, dirty dishes in the sink, someone saying "sorry, I didn't hear you" for the umpteenth time. I get angry when I'm scared, I get angry when I'm tired. Am I going to beat someone into unconsciousness with a belt or a broom handle because I'm angry? No, I'm not. Am I going to watch another part of my heart blacken and die?
Yes, yes am.
If you haven't, stop reading, you can't understand, and won't be made to understand by reading further, it'll just be heartbreaking or titillating, depending on whether you are compassionate or totally insensitive.
I've been coming to terms with a lot of my less pleasing characteristics lately. Part of my disposition is hard wired, but mostly, my temperament is the direct result of fist on flesh, or some weapon chosen for versatility, watching siblings being pounded, waiting for the next attack (and there was always a next attack), and knowing, being reminded every day, and many nights, that the bastard could do whatever he wanted to me, whenever he wanted, and I was only going to stop him by escaping or dying.
Not that I didn't fantasize. My body was battered, but my imagination ran riot. I planned a hundred, maybe a thousand ways to stop him, hurt him, kill him. I knew that I could never get away with any of my vicious daydreams, but they allowed me some vengeance, at least in my soul. My fantasies were vile, and had I mentioned them to anyone, I'm sure I would have been labelled a troubled child and not just "trouble".
I am a violent person masquerading as a pacifist. My father taught me to suck it up, put all feelings aside, but I also learned that brutality is the ultimate power. I will never be the victim of any man again. I know how to defend myself now, and may Goddess help anyone who tries anything. I'm just afraid that once started, I'd never stop.
Retribution became a big deal to me as a very small child. I couldn't stop my father (or my mother) but there were other wrongs to be righted. I settled scores for any unfairness I witnessed, regardless of whether I was involved. I brought myself a whole world of hurt doling out reprisals for stuff that was none of my business. One teacher actually broke her pointer on my leg, and screamed at me, "What are you, inhuman? Do you not feel pain? Do you like pain?" I remember thinking "pointer, amateur".
I learned to nurse a grudge, forgetting no slight, regardless how insignificant. One was my ally or my enemy. I became the anti-bully, protecting the small from the big, the weak from the powerful. I fought like a tiger to protect my little brother from threats, both real and imagined, and I have the scars to prove that I won the battle of wills with years worth of teachers to keep my brother safe. They had no weapons in their arsenals scarier than my father's hands. I had no weapons at all.
I developed into an angry young woman, embracing rabid, uncompromising feminism. I went from identifying as a Lesbian to acting and reacting as I believed a Dyke should. As an adult woman, I am still angry and full of hatred, but my rages are fewer and more centred. I don't go looking for physical altercations anymore, but I am a sarcastic bitch who storms through life with balled fists and clenched teeth all the time.
I hate. My anger is not distaste, it is violent abhorrence of many things: child abuse, child poverty, child sexual abuse, violence against women, systemic racism, homophobia, religious intolerance. I have overblown, fierce reactions to being questioned about my actions, although those reactions are generally delayed, and I blow up over something stupid and unrelated hours or days later.Just like almost every other humam being I also get pissed at traffic, stupid people, empty milk cartons left in the fridge, dirty dishes in the sink, someone saying "sorry, I didn't hear you" for the umpteenth time. I get angry when I'm scared, I get angry when I'm tired. Am I going to beat someone into unconsciousness with a belt or a broom handle because I'm angry? No, I'm not. Am I going to watch another part of my heart blacken and die?
Yes, yes am.
posted by Alphamutt at 8:43 PM
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