03 31 00

violent temper

Sometimes I can be an immature, stupid, vindictive, violent little bitch. Fortunately, it doesn't happen very often. In fact, I haven't had a total blow out in a while, something I attribute to my meditation practice. I did have a few episodes at FarAwayEvilCompany in which I threw pens at walls and stomped outside to smoke, but those were far and few between. And then, the fits were directed at events and circumstances, not particular people. But once, a long time ago, it was directed at a person.

The particular incident I'm thinking of happened about five years ago. As a geology major, one of the classes I had to take was Field Camp. Four weeks out in South Dakota, mapping and studying field practices.

In a class of 25 or so, there were only four women. The rest were men. The men ranged from nice to nerdy to jocks to fratlings. Some had attitudes, some were very soft spoken. One particular group of guys, who were all rooming together, were particularly bad. When they were apart from one another they were almost cool, but when they got together they were just mean. And they loved practical jokes.

It was week three of Field Camp. The class had been together 24/7 for more than three weeks, since we all traveled out together. Tempers were wearing thin. Alliances were made and broken on a daily basis. We were all sick of each other. We were tired, we were broke, we were sick of rocks. We wanted to go home.

I had just gotten over a nasty case of something called "trench foot" - a foot condition caused by wearing wet boots for days on end. The money my parents were supposed to wire me hadn't arrived yet, and I was out of smokes. I was homesick. And I had PMS. None of this is an excuse for what I did, but it helps explain my state of mind at the time.

It was a Sunday, our "day off" even though we had a class later that day. I was sitting in the TV lounge waiting for the class to start, since I had no desire to do anything. All I wanted to do was sleep in my own bed at home. I don't remember what we were watching, but I do know I didn't vote on it, so I was bored silly.

My thoughts were drifting off as I started to day dream about getting back home and back to my normal routine. I didn't hear "Mark" sneaking up behind me, I didn't notice "Steve" looking at something behind me.

A huge POP sounded right next to my ear. It sounded like a gun had gone off right behind me.

I jumped about ten feet into the air, out of my chair. Whirling around, I saw Mark and his prankster buddies running into the hallway, laughing hysterically. Mark was carrying the cardboard shreds of a popped noisemaker, one of those "poppers" that uses gunpowder to make the noise.

I stormed after them, screaming at the top of my lungs. My ear was ringing from the pop, and I couldn't hear out of it. "You goddamn motherfuckers! What the fuck were you thinking?? I can't hear out of that ear now, you fucking assholes! Thanks for making me DEAF!"

All the noise brought the professor out of his room. He sized up the situation quickly, and gently pulled me aside while I was still screaming like a banshee. After waiting for me to stop yelling, he said, "Sometimes you just have to step away from those that bother you. If you show a reaction, they're more likely to continue their childishness."

I nodded, but none of it really sunk in.

I wish it had.

We had our class, which was a living hell. The project we were working on was mapping using arial photos, and one of the pranksters was in my class. "Carl" wasn't the worst of them, but he was in tight with Mark. I seethed every time he looked at me and grinned. I knew he was silently laughing at me.

After class let out, I went back to me room. I intended to lie down for a while, since the ringing in my ear had subsided to a dull ache. As I was finishing glancing over my notes for the day, Carl and Mark danced by my room, laughing. In high, screechy voices they screamed, "Aaa! My ear! You made me deaf! Waaa!"

To this day I have no idea what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking - that's the only explanation. My roommates saw me throw my notes on the floor and run headlong out the door.

A small knot of people had congregated at the end of the hallway. As I stalked closer, I could hear them discussing their plans for the evening. Mark was closest to me, with his back towards me.

I gave him a running kick to the kidneys.

What did I think I was going to do? Knock him to the floor? Beat him up? He easilly outweighed me and was far stronger than I am. Did I think one kick would make him realize how wrong he was? Could I really have thought I could make him apologize by attacking him?

I have no idea.

The kick didn't even phase him. He rounded on me, his face a frightening mask of anger. "What the fuck!" he yelled.

I suddenly felt very small and very vulnerable. My mind decided to return from its vacation, only to discover that I'd gone and done something to utterly stupid. What the fuck indeed, said my mind. You're on your own, bitch. And I just stared at Mark.

Everyone was looking at me, of course. My hands were balled up into fists, but hung limply at my sides. Mark took a step towards me. "What they hell do you think you're doing, kicking me in the back? Do you think you're safe because you're a girl?" he yelled. "Because you're not. I could just beat the crap out of you right now, cunt."

Carl, thankfully, laid a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Come on, man," he murmured.

Mark shrugged off Carl's hand. "Get out of my sight right now, bitch," he snarled.

And I ran.

I ran down the hall, Mark's laughter chasing right behind. "Look at her run!" I ran out the door, into the yard, into the parking lot. I ran down past the gym and stopped, out of sight of the dorm.

Filling my lungs and shredding my vocal cords for the second time that day, I let loose one loud "FUCK!" I sat down on some stairs and sobbed.

I'd never done anything like that before. I haven't done anything like it since, and I hope and pray I never do anything like it again. To this day, I have no idea what I was thinking. I only remember the burning rage I felt, and I needed to strike back.

Never, never again. Now when I feel that anger towards someone welling up inside me, I'll lash out at a wall, my car, the keyboard. I've learned to count to ten before making a move. I consider myself a fairly non-violent person, except...

Except...

Except when that animal inside me snarls and struggles to be free. I've grown up a lot in those five years. The animal is still there, but I've learned how to placate it. Now I just have to keep a watchful eye on it - to make sure it doesn't break free in a moment on inattention.

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