When I was 13 I nearly killed a guy.
This guy, Brandon, was one of those friends better left to the welfare state than to a group of kids. Trailer park born and raised, quite violent, unpredictable, not much of a real friend, but at that time I trusted anyone who’d give me the time of day. I hung out with major dicks at the time, and not the kind that got chicks. The kind that would rather beat up on the weakest associate than hunt down rival groups.
Our school was grades 6 to 8. The school we were at was K to 5. We all hung at the other school due to younger siblings. A good 45 minute wait between when we got out and they did. We were tossing a football around. Normal shit. For some reason, after tossing it to the two or three guys on the other end, I turned around. I felt a thump hit the back of my head. I blacked out.
I awoke. Hand around the throat of the guy who had the ball in his hands when I turned. He was blueish, but breathing. I immediately got off his chest, let his throat go and walked away. It would have been a pure macho move, minus the fact I went over to my mom and told her what happened. From what I can remember, she had no reaction. Odd for a woman who’s usually up my ass about being in fights.
I had scared myself that day. The years previous to that, I was in fights regularly. Not always fisticuffs, but they were fights. Getting pushed around and pushing around. Hurting people that annoyed me. A bully sometimes, a bullied other times. It was just how I was. But after blacking out, I accepted the anti-fighting views of my parents. The extreme views. My dad once accused me of assaulting my sister when, as always, I was simply picking on her. Nothing bruised. Nothing broken. But, according to them, that was worse than rape. I promptly told my dad to fuck off.
Through the 8th grade and high school, I did my best to avoid fights. That first year wasn’t easy, I got in several fights since I was at a new school and breaking in to the social circles usually involved pissing off all the guys. High school had one or two, but most of the time I timidly walked away, pissed but not in trouble. I repressed a lot.
That old friend of mine, the temper, is returning.
My birthday outing was decent, but hardly fun (story to be posted soon). Friend ditched without a word. Several rejections, including a cold bitch going so far as to mention wanting to get laid and then walking away later to call her boyfriend. I wasn’t exactly Zen that night.
The next day, I talk to the Ex over text. She thanked me for visiting one of her work friends in the hospital and letting her talk to him. We talked more. And, in a moment of weakness, I said I missed her. She said she missed my familiarity. Fuck you, woman. I keep the convo going tho, I dunno why. Staying civil. I guess old feelings die hard. She tells me again “You couldn’t give what I wanted.”
“So you finally figure out what that is?”
Fuck me. Go grab Big Bubba from the county jail and tell him I’m fresh meat. Fuck me.
I told her she should go get a girl when we were together. Noooooo. I told her I like the idea of a threesome relationship. Noooooooo, it should be just me and you. The failed threesome? Her idea and her temper sunk it just as much as the lying cunt that was my “bisexual” female roommate.
This wasn’t the trip I was hoping for.
I’ve been trying to let the steam out. A lot of rage and resentment pent up, held in because I trained myself not to get angry or violent. Things from the divorce, the money situation, Maria, etc. I put it into working out before I left. I’ve been doing some exercises here, but this is beyond steam. I’m handling it, since I’m not writing from jail, but its bad.
There are things a human mind can’t stand for long. This shit is one of them.