That is my other difficult blur, and whenever I have to use old skills/thinking in new times/places? I… don’t have the words to explain what happens. The scattered cracks along a vase, in one respect. Tungsten steel and rightness in others. Same when I use other skills.
I had to sit and read your post a few times. Because, yeah. Yeah, all of this. It was the same this year. I didn't wah-wah about it being on the level of anything traumatic, but I
did assault four people in a bar and I
did break a dude's pinky for following me across 3 buses and trying to sell me crack on the bus, in public. Everybody I
tell about these incidents? Says that they don't make me a violent shithead. That I either acted in self-defense, or that I acted in response to clear "fighting words."
(The guys at the bar were mocking and making fun of my mom [who was there, so it was to her face while I was standing right there.]) I went blind with rage, always do. The last time someone f*cked with my mom? I went to the kitchen where I had been cooking instant noodles, took the pot off the stove, and poured the boiling/hot water down the balcony onto the neighbors heads. (I don't remember there ever being any consequences for this, either, but it absolutely happened cuz my mom remembers it too.)
If they had been making fun of me, yelling at me, whatever. I would have walked away because that is what you do, you don't start shitty, stupid barfights over nothing unless you're prepared to accidentally kill someone. And I'm not, anymore. Except for when I black out from rage and then? All bets, off. I don't throw punches. My first move is to ram your nose up into your f*cking brain.
The bar fight, I somehow managed in an unbelievable stroke of something, to put them in their place without anyone getting injured at all. I hit him in the chest, took him to the ground, rammed my elbow in his chest and then two guys got ahold of me and I slammed my heel into a guy trying to punch me, and then somehow (I think my mom came back) we were negotiating to end the fight. I said "get your f*cking hand off me" and he said "get yours off me!" so I let him go.
He didn't say shit to my mom again.
And it was just a fight, it wasn't a bad outcome. It wasn't a trauma. It wasn't anything, except in my brain, I am right back there. To being what I was as a kid.
It’s totally right and justified to use commensurate force.
Personally, for rapists, I tend to go with glass rods & hammers, rather than piss scared. But piss scared I see as commensurate with attempted rape, for certain. Even if those skills, and enjoying using those skills where there was need, f*cked your head a bit. I would see my friend as worth the pain, for. As opposed to it being wrong.
And I had to read this one again, too. Both you and
@Freida seem so sure about this. And this incident is one where either people do not believe me (they think that I have made it up to seem "cool," which ... is ridiculous, to me, because I view it the total opposite.) OR they say "right on! He deserved it!" pretty much categorically. I'm the odd one out, always. It represents something that I don't want to be. I don't want to be a person who violates people's rights.
And even if they're a shitty dirtbag rapist motherf*cker, they still have rights.
(But I don't know, because I guess much like the people who hear me discuss this, when you mention your own responses to a rapist, I can understand exactly why you've done it. K wasn't just an attempted rapist, he was responsible for me being raped probably dozens of times. That's how he made his money. And I still think when I talk about him, that I f*cked it up by letting him live.)
Then the other parts of me kick online and start moralizing about human rights. Bullshit, you have to be human to have human rights, don't you? (But just because he's a rapist and a trafficker does not make him non-human, as rape and trafficking are actions that humans take every day, and have done so since the dawn of time.) I have this f*cking constructed worldview that works in its own little bubble but you know, when I step into
reality it is not as neat.
I saw my friend as worth it, but I think I just did it for my own self-gratification. Because at a certain point I could have easily just restrained him. I had complete physical control of him, it would not have been difficult to resolve the situation peacefully. But I did not want peace. I wanted him to feel the type of fear that he instilled in the children that he forced me to harm.
וְאִם-אָסוֹן, יִהְיֶה–וְנָתַתָּה נֶפֶשׁ, תַּחַת נָפֶשׁ
BUT IF ANY HARM FOLLOW, THEN THOU SHALT GIVE LIFE FOR LIFE
עַיִן תַּחַת עַיִן, שֵׁן תַּחַת שֵׁן, יָד תַּחַת יָד, רֶגֶל תַּחַת רָגֶל
EYE FOR EYE, TOOTH FOR TOOTH, HAND FOR HAND, FOOT FOR FOOT
כְּוִיָּה תַּחַת כְּוִיָּה, פֶּצַע תַּחַת פָּצַע, חַבּוּרָה, תַּחַת חַבּוּרָה
BURNING FOR BURNING, WOUND FOR WOUND, STRIPE FOR STRIPE
וְכִי-יַכֶּה אִישׁ אֶת-עֵין עַבְדּוֹ, אוֹ-אֶת-עֵין אֲמָתוֹ–וְשִׁחֲתָהּ: לַחָפְשִׁי יְשַׁלְּחֶנּוּ, תַּחַת עֵינוֹ
AND IF A MAN SMITE THE EYE OF HIS BONDMAN, OR THE EYE OF HIS BONDWOMAN, AND DESTROY IT, HE SHALL LET HIM GO FREE FOR HIS EYE’S SAKE
It seems to say... you exchange burning for burning. But once the burning has been completed, you must let him go. And I did. I let him go. Maybe it wasn't anything to do with me at all. Maybe it was just God loosening my grip.