My Way

I wasn't a trouble maker when I was young. I didn't go looking for it. It just always found me. I suppose it had to do with location and association. I didn't have friends. I didn't drink to get drunk, I didn't get into drugs, I didn't sleep around, I wasn't in any gang. I was an Outcast. I truly believe it's because of a combination of my childhood experiences and the resulting adult insight into life. This confused my fellow youngsters.

Having no friends in such rough places didn't do me any favors. At first, I was prey. A punching bag. I adapt quickly when I want to, though. Soon, it was known that I was no prey. Where it wasn't known, it was conveyed to the general prey at large, in my eyes and in my step. Fellow predatory people could sense that I felt I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

This reputation did me no favors either. It got me profiled. By the Authorities. By good, kind people I always dreamed of becoming. By girls. Sure, they like their "bad boys". But they don't like them as vicious as I was thought to be.

I was an A-B student. When I was IN school. I got along great with my teachers, as long as
they wanted to teach. Still, as an outcast, the Authorities perceived me as the threat that my peers perceived me as. Damn them.

As you can imagine, my reputation eventually brought trouble my way.

After I'd been egested, I was compelled to move to Arizona. My sister had moved there not long after she graduated. To insure that she wouldn't need to come back, she got married. To a former gang member.

In California, fresh out of Camp, as I call it, and right after graduation (for my peers), I got a tip through the grapevine that there was a hit out on my sister. Allegedly she'd been cheating on her husband. While he was willing to slink off and nurse his wounded heart, his remaining "brothers" were stirred to action.

Feeling rather put out by California, I decided to go to Arizona and clean up. After arriving, I tidied up in short order. Then I learned that my sister had, indeed, been slutting around. I know, that sounds mean, but seriously. I moved away from my territory into her husband's turf, defended her honor, chased off her would-be assailants and essentially transferred the "honor-bounty " from her head to mine. I was pissed. Having talked to her Sauncho, I realized he was little more than a witless victim: a pretty girl whining about how she's mistreated, hanging about, drinking, flirting. Few men still exist who wouldn't accept such an invitation.

There I was. Nowhere. I decided to commence becoming a BETTER person. After an exhaustive look at religions, I felt even more frustrated. More disgusted with people. Having left no other stone unturned, I agreed to study with Jehovah's Witnesses. Ultimately, I became a volunteer minister myself.

Typically, something such as this is a source of pride--and it was. But not so much anymore. See, I screwed up. I always assumed that my vice was violence. Then my future wife came along. I fell for her. Hook, line and sinker. That's fine and dandy. Where I went wrong is that I was so insecure and SHE was so insecure that I devoted literally all my time and effort into her. I wanted to be absolutely sure that she fell in love with me and that she had no doubts that I loved her. I left nothing to chance. I left nothing to Jesus Christ, the Savior. I left nothing to Jehovah God.

After sinking all four tires deep in the mud, I realized what I'd done. I had essentially turned my back on those who had set me free. Worse, I held my folly against my wife. I tried not to let it show. But she's quite sensitive. She felt the change. We rapidly declined. We completely stopped preaching. We stopped going to meetings. We stopped associating with our friends altogether.

Not that I could ever say a thing bad about my friend SandSurfer, but he was not a good role-model for me, an aspiring minister with a dark past. My dark side came back in spades.

What'd we do to fix it? We moved 3,000 miles away. Since then, I've held several jobs. Two of significance. I've told NOBODY of my time as a minister. The happiest, proudest time of my life.

I have, unfortunately, told many of my violent youth. I have to keep them at bay somehow. Apparently people think I'm a good person, want to get to know me. No.

I'd never felt truly week before. Honestly defeated.

Our trip out West a few weeks ago revitalized my strength. I floundered a bit, but last week, I started attending meetings again. I can't do too much just yet, seeing as how I got into a wee bit of trouble out West. Once I can show that I'm no threat to the flock though, I'll be up and running again.

Nonetheless, I'm scared. I swear more than anybody I've ever known or heard of. My sense of humor is as warped and morbid as you'd expect from my past and I brandish it like my great-grandfather's sword or somethin'. My wife's happy for me, but she's still not going to meetings. This frustrates me. And I wish I knew how to solve things without aggression, but the best I can usually do is growl at her.

That's not fair. She didn't exactly force my hand. I could have tried having faith. But I still keep kicking myself over it. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. I wonder sometimes if I was wrong to marry her. If I was wrong to get married. Sometimes I feel like I was ruined before I ever had the chance. That my poor wife is stuck with someone who is unfamiliar with love. I don't know how to talk nice. I think calling someone a punk, brat--whatever, is affectionate. A love tap on the shoulder is like a hug to ME.

I actually have moments where I crave a beating. When I miss the pain. I have moments where I fear my wife. I think she's out to get me. Do me harm. When she loses her cool, I expect a fist-fight. My body tenses. I find my jaw and fists clenched. It's like I never left the streets. What the hell am I?

I don't hit her, no. But who says you have to? All it takes is coldness, mean words--or no words at all. And that's where I often fail. Afraid of sounding hateful, like I am, I remain silent. How can I help anyone when I feel like I hate everyone? I have yet to know somebody who I haven't envisioned pulverized by me. It's all I seem to KNOW. All I want is to break the cycle, start my own legacy. But it's like all I NEED is to hurt.

And so, knowing that I'm like this, I'll let people take advantage of me. I'll play all tough until it gets down to it, then I'll back down. I don't WANT to hurt people anymore. But I am SO good at it. It comes so naturally.

You know, I actually forget to breathe sometimes. But I've NEVER ONCE felt like I've forgotten how to break bones, shatter skin. As I said, I'll avoid most fights, even worthy ones, because I'm afraid of myself. Afraid enough for the both of us. Me and my adversary. But when I DO get my blood up, I don't know what to say. My wife can get anyone to understand her displeasure and seek to make amends. Me, I just end up choking down a snarl, grasping after my profanities with useless hands that won't grab because they're clenched into fists.

And my wife, she thinks I can't fix any of my problems. That I NEVER stand up for myself or what I want. Basically, I feel that she thinks I'm weak. I've managed to stand up for myself without physically harming someone before. I'm not quite sure that I wasn't abusive, but I've pulled it off plenty of times. Before her. Now, I just let her handle it. She's good at it. More, she won't tarnish our marriage with a visit to prison.

It wasn't like that when I was a Witness. I was still too intense for some of the brothers. Most of the sisters. But I was happy. I felt calm, collected. Secure. Sane. Like I was finally doing some good. Like I had purpose. That perhaps I could forgive myself for not being vicious enough soon enough to protect my mom.

I hope I get that back soon. I miss it. I NEED it. Otherwise, why didn't I join the Army?