Catching Idle Butterflies

A murderous soul

So what new perspective have I gained from my experiences with Joe that I didn’t know, or at least didn’t acknowledge, in 1991?

While I learned about the kind of person who I wanted to be with, the more important and even frightening lessons were in what I learned about myself. As I read my essay before posting it, I found those lessons glaringly absent.

We all grow up making promises to ourselves; some we break, and others we keep. I ended up breaking more than I kept, and all those promises I broke while I was with Joe.

That is, all but one.

The first three are easy to figure out based on yesterday’s entry: I would wait until marriage to have sex, never let a man hit me, and never stay with one who slept around.

The only promise I never broke was doing drugs. I’ve had more than my share of opportunities, but drugs never held any interest for me. Heck, I hate taking aspirin.

We also grow up thinking we’re incapable of doing certain things such as killing someone in cold blood. I was always the “nice” one, never saying a cruel word (on purpose) to anyone; I never bullied, and the only person I ever had physical altercations with was my sister. Then we only engaged in cat fights that involved biting, pulling hair and scratching deeply enough we both still carry the scars. But murder? Not possible. I was too good for that.

With Joe, I learned I could rage and act out on it. These particular incidences to this day make me wonder who was the abused in this relationship, at least physically.

I won’t deny Joe abused me mentally. He had ways of tearing me down with such cruel words I will share none of it. It’s not that they still hurt, I simply can’t write that profane.

While I couldn’t respond to his cruelty with words, I learned other ways.

In yet another argument, he stood inches from my face with his fist thrusting at me as he yelled. He looked ready to punch me, and the next thing I knew, both furious and scared, my hand flew up and smacked him across the cheek.

We stared at each other, both equally stunned.

I broke the silence saying, “I’m sorry, but you scared me. I thought you were going to hit me.”

“You don’t look sorry.”

He was right. I wasn’t sorry. I was glad I had hit him. For one, he no longer yelled at me, but it also felt good to have some measure of control over him, to hurt him for once.

There were more incidences like this, only the violence escalated. Some didn’t even require an argument, but to stop him from wanting to wrestle with me. I discovered all I needed to do was punch him in the nose so hard it bled and he left me alone.

One time I got so enraged, I forced him facedown on the bed, straddled him, and punched his kidneys so many times and so hard, he told me later he had difficulty going to the bathroom. Notice how he didn’t fight back? And he very well could have, considering he outweighed me by 60 pounds.

I could say at this point Joe brought out the worst in me, but that places more of the onus on him, not me.

But the volume of my rage didn’t hit me until after I broke up with him.

Dave (my now hubby) and I worked together making picture frames, and when I told him I was a bit nervous about being alone in the apartment, he leant me his .22 pistol for protection. As I held this pistol, I thanked God, something I hadn’t done in two years.

I thanked Him I didn’t have a weapon like this while I was with Joe.

Never once while I was with Joe did I fear he would kill me, either with a firearm or any other method.

No, I was thankful, because if I had a pistol, I likely would have killed him during one of my rages. I certainly wanted to, and a gun would have made it so easy. A knife or baseball bat he could have defended himself from, but not a bullet.

This showed me anyone is capable of committing murder given the right circumstances. And this would have been murder. Like I said, I didn’t fear he would kill me. I wanted him dead out of hate and for no other reason.

I hope I never feel that kind of rage or hate again, but who knows what circumstances I may find myself in the future? I am still human and that monster still lurks within, just waiting for the right time to take control.