It calls to me sometimes. Even when I'm shaking with fear from recollections of acts I've committed in the past, sometimes it calls to me. I'm conflicted. I think of all the things people have done, and attempted to do, to me, and one part of me wants to dismember myself while another wants to go vigilante and hunt down the people who would harm me and others.

When those men hurt me and I didn't kill them, did they go on to hurt others? I fret often over all the blood that may or may not be indirectly on my hands. Someone's mother, or daughter, maybe a child? Who has my negligence allowed harm to? Has someone innocent died because of some piece of shit that I allowed to live?

I'm hurt, and scared, and weak, and alone, and there's nothing that anyone but me can do about it. When I stabbed him, when I broke that arm, dented that face, severed those tendons... maybe I should have gone further. Maybe I should have just fucking finished it. Maybe I would be stronger now if I had.

The feeling of inflicting physical harm on someone makes me sick, no matter how justified it could be argued to be. There's always the feeling that I could have done something more to avoid it, especially in the case of self defense.

In such cases, I'm not sure if instinct is my enemy or my friend. It's probably saved my life, but for the few minutes after cutting that person, breaking that arm, dislocating that knee... I'm never sure if it's worth it.

Violence is all that there can be in some circumstances. To defeat those who prey on fear and speak in only violence you must make them fear and speak louder than them.

Violence really gets shit done. The right of the thinker and the acedamian to continue to exist is secured by the fighting force that considers them important enough to protect.

Of course, maybe we should let the sheilds fall and see what happens.

I always hated violence.

No, that's a lie.

I always saw the rejection of violent behavior as a way to feel superior to other people. I didn't hate violent movies or video games, though.

Maybe it didn't come from an inner voice saying, "I hate violence", but one saying, "I don't want to get hurt".

I was proud to say that I had never hit anyone out of anger (except that one kid on the bus in fourth grade when he kept punching me in the back of the head and wouldn't stop), but started feeling weird when I would have violent dreams. I'd just be beating someone mercilessly, like dreaming turned me into the anti-me.

I came upon a theory that in suppressing my instinctive violent urges, they were coming out in unhealthy ways, like how I'd torture myself with food/sleep deprivation, overexhaustion, and self-mutilation, and more and more often with a sense of vindictive gratification, as if I were slowly defeating an enemy. An inner voice would start talking to me as if it were a predator taunting a small animal.

As much as I'd direct my masochism toward productive or at least artistic ends, I realized that I couldn't escape the fact that I was a violent person.

I guess my next step is finding more outlets for this aggression that don't involve causing anything pain. Damn, I've always rejected the idea of natural male aggression, and now I'm having to work through it, lest I suddenly find myself turning into a "typical guy" that starts fights and beats people up to blow off steam.

I always thought typical was kind of worthless. If something isn't different, it doesn't have any chance to be better.