Yesterday, I had to crack someone's skull. Literally. I didn't even know the guy was bleeding that badly, until I dragged him out onto the pavement, and saw it pool up around his head. In my defense, he tried to slice some girl's stomach with a broken beer bottle. Me being who I am, I smacked the bottle away and dislocated his shoulder, which is usually enough to stop someone, but he must have been on something, cuz he turned on me with another bottle in his other hand. I dodged to the side, and utilized my maglite's handle.
I follow a set pattern. It seems all I'm good for is protecting people and hurting people. When I get involved in a situation at work, there is definitely pain. Lots of pain. I realize that I'm nothing more than a trained brute with a badge, and so I justify my actions with official sounding statements. But lately I wonder if I'm in the right. I mean, even if the guy was a real jerk, should I ensure his hospitalization? I admittedly tend to go a little overboard. I see red and just run with it. It's like I lose all control, but at the same time every move, every blow, every slight action is carefully planned and carried out to near brutal perfection. There is purpose in every move I make, no matter how far enraged I may be. Certain past events have led me to take things rather personal when it comes to abusing/attacking women. Such is my nature.
The military was different. Orders take the place of rationalization. Men with heavier rank than mine say do this, so I do it. They say clear this house, I clear it. They say no live bodies and no noise, so we knife anyone inside, regardless of age and gender. They say don't stop driving, so we hit whoever/whatever is in the way. Hard truths to swallow at times, but ultimately out of my hands. Here at home, discretion is the name of the game. My logic is that my military duties have distorted sense of discretion and morality, assuming they were normal to begin with. I don't feel bad about these things, even when my own men look at me as if to say "Jesus, dude, you didn't have to go that far". Tough shit, in my opinion. I know I've caused permanent damage to people, and I couldn't care less. I work on a rough side of town with rough people where there are plenty of rumbles and no questions about their outcomes. No lawsuits, no problems. I live, therefore I make war, or something like that.
Maybe I'm just violent by nature. The only time I feel truly centered is when I'm in a good fight. Like taking on a drunken 25 man bachelor party with only 4 to 6 guys backing me up, and totally dominating. The rush I feel is second to nothing.
I follow a set pattern. It seems all I'm good for is protecting people and hurting people. When I get involved in a situation at work, there is definitely pain. Lots of pain. I realize that I'm nothing more than a trained brute with a badge, and so I justify my actions with official sounding statements. But lately I wonder if I'm in the right. I mean, even if the guy was a real jerk, should I ensure his hospitalization? I admittedly tend to go a little overboard. I see red and just run with it. It's like I lose all control, but at the same time every move, every blow, every slight action is carefully planned and carried out to near brutal perfection. There is purpose in every move I make, no matter how far enraged I may be. Certain past events have led me to take things rather personal when it comes to abusing/attacking women. Such is my nature.
The military was different. Orders take the place of rationalization. Men with heavier rank than mine say do this, so I do it. They say clear this house, I clear it. They say no live bodies and no noise, so we knife anyone inside, regardless of age and gender. They say don't stop driving, so we hit whoever/whatever is in the way. Hard truths to swallow at times, but ultimately out of my hands. Here at home, discretion is the name of the game. My logic is that my military duties have distorted sense of discretion and morality, assuming they were normal to begin with. I don't feel bad about these things, even when my own men look at me as if to say "Jesus, dude, you didn't have to go that far". Tough shit, in my opinion. I know I've caused permanent damage to people, and I couldn't care less. I work on a rough side of town with rough people where there are plenty of rumbles and no questions about their outcomes. No lawsuits, no problems. I live, therefore I make war, or something like that.
Maybe I'm just violent by nature. The only time I feel truly centered is when I'm in a good fight. Like taking on a drunken 25 man bachelor party with only 4 to 6 guys backing me up, and totally dominating. The rush I feel is second to nothing.
