It worked when he bought me a punching bag! From what I've heard, I've had violent tendancies and mood swings since I was nine years old. Before that I, apparently, smiled, laughed, played, and otherwise interacted like any kid. That says all sorts of fucked up things about what could've changed that but that's a completely different therapy session. Either way, he bought me a punching bag and set it up for me on the porch. It was one of those heavy duty, thick and black sorts, hung from the ceiling by this hardcore chain. He said it'd be a good way to get out my frustrated energies whenever I felt I needed to.
I never used it much, weirdly enough. If I had it now, totally, but back as a kid I'd get all but scolded for using it. My sister and I got into this big fight once about something completely stupid and I got so mad that I saw red stars infront of my eyes. Now in case no one knows, that's a Bad Thing. It means one is going to do one of two things: pass out or beat the mother-loving crap out of someone. I didn't pass out and luckily for my sister, I had that damned punching bag.
Instead of ending the fight with a fist to my little sisters face (again, something totally dumb, I completely mistreated that poor girl during our childhood and teen years; I'm surprised she forgave me and we became friends. i wouldn't have forgiven me), I went outside to the porch and started whaling on that thing. At fourteen, I had this bag the same style as the one in my dojo the black belts use swinging back and forth, denting a bit. Fourteen was two years after I dented a metal door at school by punching it in order to get in. Strong kid, yeah.
Mom came out and started getting mad because I had been "picturing [my sisters] face" on the punching bag and how it was wrong. Unlike most bad-asses my age, I didn't keep up with the punching but got mad at her instead. The punching bag was there so I could get out my anger! So what if I saw my sisters face - which I hadn't been. I had been seeing this black bag because I was messed up but not a total psychopath. When he'd installed the bag for me, her boyfriend specifically told me he purchased it for me so I would be able to take out my anger on something that would satisfy and help me. Looking back on it, I think he was the only one in my childhood/early teens who actively knew just how messed up my head was. Everyone else assumed it was anger at the divorce (although I had been told I was a freak by not showing any emotion throughout the entire ordeal) and anger problems in general.
Instead of getting in a second fight with my mother, I stormed to my room, closed, and locked the door. She didn't know about the lock-pick at the top of the door frame and pounded for a few minutes while my sister cried in the living room. She always cried a lot, more than I would admit to being something I did to her.
To this day I don't understand why it had been bad to hit that punching bag. Maybe if I hadn't been made to feel bad about getting violent at it, I wouldn't have hidden it all to myself. Maybe someone would have seen it earlier.
There's no grudges! Who wants to know their kid or niece or friend is violent and possibly dangerous? I wouldn't want to. It's hard thing to come to terms with. I still get violent urges to this day although they are, in my belief, well justified. You mess with my friends? You're damn straight I'll get up in your face. You touch my tit while I'm at a club? I will punch you and get those bouncers in your face.
But I have karate now! Also, medication. Not so much therapy but that comes next, when I get the money.
So this is my little story for the day, Blog. I'm not sure where it came from but there it is. Now I'm going to go play housewife, clean, and dance around to Aqua, Lily Allen, and Disney.
Until next time!
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