A comedian I watched recently said something to the effect that the only thing she really misses about living with someone is the ability to be completely mental with someone. Just walk in the room and say TWO lights on? You need TWO BLOODY LIGHTS ON? and then leave the room.
I haven’t had a fight in months. Its weird. I’m starting to feel itchy, like I need to bloody my hands.
One thing about my ex and I… we savaged each other in our fights. We were bared teeth with screaming and spitting. It was like watching part of myself consumed with fire and relishing it. I was angry at him, myself and the world and sometimes that big roar that came from inside me, this well of primal rage was tapped and a little pressure released. It wasn’t healthy, but sometimes it felt SO FUCKING GOOD to just rage at another person.
I don’t believe that anger is productive. I love disagreement, because it’s an opportunity to learn. I firmly believe that if two people are rational they can calm the fuck down and solve an issue. That being said, we’ve all had fights over laundry, or using the wrong spoon, or not turning the radio to the right station or any other of a hundred thousand stupid fucking reasons that have turned into these epic all out fights with the person we love. Because as we accept their crazy, they accept ours.
It’s a physical thing, really. If I can’t roar at someone, I need to beat myself into submission. I need to join a kickboxing class or something to get out the aggression that is building. It’s silly that after being so relieved that I don’t have to fight anymore, I miss it. I need that release. It feels as if I’ve fought through my whole life.
My brother was known as the Brain and I was the Brawn. When we were kids, my mom put us in Tae Kwon Do. We reached black belt, my brother 2nd degree. We only ever fought one summer. Other than that, my brother and I got along well. This one summer though, it was knock out drag out fights. I’m not proud to say that I made sure he always hit first. I’d push him to the point that he couldn’t control himself and he’d attack. I remember a slap fight. We must have slapped each other’s faces like 8 times in a row. I remember him shoving me into the front door so hard, I slid to the ground, he stood over me his hands in fists, breathing heavy. I kicked him and then tackled him and we punched it out. It was cathartic. Our mother was dying. Our father had left us. We didn’t know what to do with the rage that was building, so we took it out on each other.
The only physical abuse that I endured that I never hit back was from my parents. Oh, I fought with non physical means. I still remember the last time my dad hit me and the look on his face when he saw the look on mine.
My ex and I pushed each other to terrible points. I was more physically abusive to him than him to me, meaning that I punched him solidly about 3 times, and instead of hitting me, he pushed me, or locked me in rooms. We fought to the point that he held my neck against the wall, choking me. I punched him and wrapped my hands around his neck. We caught the look in each other’s eyes and let go at the same time. We walked away, not wanting to go down that path. He is 6’3″, a rugby player and was in the Army for a short time. He could hurt me if he wanted. I found out he was cheating on me. I asked him about it, directly. He lied to my face. I told him to do it again. He did, so I punched him. Another time, I was driving him home once from the bar, and he called me a Stupid Bitch, spitting it out at me with disdain and contempt. Now, there are few things that hit my anger button so solidly that I can hear nothing but the rage and blood in my ears. Stupid Bitch is one of those things. I punched him in the side of the head, because I was driving and I couldn’t tackle him and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. I kicked him out of my car.
The rage that I felt in that relationship was so uncontrollable . I would smile in front of others and rage at home. I’d pretend that I was okay, letting only a few people know a small fraction of what was happening. I don’t want to be an abusive partner. This frightens me for the future, but I think it was just that relationship. I hope.
So knowing that, why do I feel the need to rage again? Why do I want to roar and fight and prove myself strong? I watch fights and action movies and I get that warrior mentality. I just want someone to step in the ring with me and let me fight through the pain.
After my mom died, I cut myself for a while. I realized that I was just giving a physical manifestation to the pain. I gave my tools to my counselor on my own. She took them and I never saw them again. It was then that I really understood the need to have a balance to my emotions. I began over analyzing and trying to make sure I knew what I was feeling and why. I started intramural wrestling, I broke up fights between guys, fought one girl briefly. I never lost that need to feel physical pain when I hurt inside though. The rasp in my chest when I’ve screamed my voice raw, the strain of the muscles in my arms and back, the breeze that floats through my mind when my anger is spent, the feeling that tears are okay now.
There is a savage, raw part of me. Sometimes it scares me, sometimes it soothes me. Right now, I feel the need to let it out, but I have no outlet. I want my pain to be soothed by physical exhaustion. I want to feel every nerve ending screaming at me, overwhelming me. I want to give in to the animal instinct for just a little while.