I shouldn’t have done it, this is not by any means my nature, I don’t believe in violence period. But I lost my cool, with all the cruel names I was called, with how I was considered a “loose cannon” for wanting to be a normal 23 year old women, to drink a few beers and go to a show with a close friend and come home at 1am at the latest. Tired of being devalued for my shortcomings, tired of being called names like “loser”,”spoiled rich girl”, or “failure” tired of feeling like a bad person with the blame put on me because our veiws differ. Because I want to have fun, a little freedom, I don’t require much, I give all that is within me and share all I have. I am not high maintenance, I do not ask for much. But I have lived in a box, a while now, and I wanted to expand and feel alive and not be so solitary that it’s walls confine me, and it was comfortable but now I’m too large to fit inside.
I smacked him across the face, that’s all I did, for his tongue kept wagging and my words melted away like wet sugar not holding up to state my case. He was dumping the bucket of water letting it just disappear, telling me I had no words while erasing them. Everytime this happens I gave in, let go, maybe even intentionally spurlged in siolence. An extra glass, smoke, a put-it-to-ya but not really. But with no freedom to be me, dirty habits and all, I have lost something more.
Then I smacked him pleading for his attention exhausted and flustered and voiceless while he flaunted his rage. I grabbed his collar trying to plead “listen to me!”. I don’t want to be the invisible voice any longer nor the one you can tame. I’m out of control? How come you punch holes in doors and fight random city strangers in blind fury like a tantrum, a maniac? And then he shoved me, straight across the ground with so much force I landed on my back, I think I flew, one minuite standing, the next on the ground. I felt like he wanted to hurt me, I felt it in the force, the landing, and the anger. How he hurt me.
I by no means think that I am a innocent party with my open palm. But did I deserve it? Am I wrong for he planted a seed of hatred and resistance within me. I snapped using my hand as my mouth.
I know there are two ways to see it; deserved and undeserved. And I don’t know? Is what I did so wrong? After these pent up feelings inside of me, the mental abuse, being taking for granted, and devalued, ate at my insides like a blue flame seering and charcoaling what was left to a black dust storm of hatred. I’m curious to know? Did I deserve to land on my back and be hit with such force because I started it with less than half of the intensity?