There was a time when I was bold. I used to be the “talk-shit-get-hit” kind of guy. When someone crosses me, I’d get even. I didn’t have to fear the consequences too much. Sure, I’d get my ass beat, but I didn’t care at the time (of course, that was another problem within itself).
It was when I turned 14 I started holding back. Sure, it might’ve been for the best in some instances; because of my actions and my impulsiveness, I ended up in a special-ed program, and I had to work my ass off to get out of it. I’ve “come a long way”, as my former teachers like to tell me, and I’m grateful for their guidance, but I often question if it was truly worth it in the end. I’ve become too domesticated, and that made me vulnerable. People, starting with my family, began to pick up on it. My cousins would become even more antagonistic, as would my older brothers, especially my oldest brother (in the household). He’d steal from me, bully me (he once even threatened me with a pencil, and my aunt’s diabetic syringe). My grandfather and my aunt would abuse me even more, even going as far as to do power plays and humiliate me. It wasn’t until my senior year of high school when things became blatant.
There was a peer in my gym class named Nico Napoli, who sought out my weaknesses and as soon as he discovered them, he decided to make my life a living hell. He’d antagonize me by shoulder-checking me, calling me a nigger, and basically tell me how I’m never going to amount to anything, all sorts of crap. And with each occurrence, I do nothing about it. Normally, I’d react accordingly, but I’ve spent so long being so passive that whenever I face conflict, I end up in this “shock phase”, where I end up in a state of analysis paralysis, and by the time I finally manage to process it and figure out how to react, it’s too late. Not only that, I’d have to deal with the academic and legal repercussions, which will lead to the wrath of my family. As the days go by, other peers would pick up on it and join in the ridicule. Having to hold back at this point has made me resentful and full of pent up aggression. I wanted to make everyone suffer. If it weren’t for the very few people who treated me human, I might’ve gone down a dark path. Because I held back, however, I had to suffer, which over time, I became suicidal, but I guess that was when I began reassembling the pieces of my being that everyone went out of their way to shatter beyond recognition.
Years go by and I’d still go on to face the endless cycle of abuse. However, I began to notice something whenever I face enough in a short period of time: I snap.
One good example was when my aunt went and threw a cup at me and busted my lip. When I saw the sight of my own blood, I saw red. I got up and charged after her, before my mother, who instigated all this, got in my way. I shoved her repeatedly onto the couch (I had enough sense of reason to not hurt her), shouting at her to get out of my way, and that my aunt needs to pay for making me bleed, until mom’s ex-boyfriend came and deescalated the situation. I had to take a nightly walk to calm myself down. My damn cousins went out of their way to defend my aunt afterwards, demanding I apologize to her, despite the face she drew my blood over a barf bag.
The other instance was with my grandfather, gaslighting and threatening me as usual. However, I had too much restraint to fight him. Odds were greatly stacked against me. If I did anything, I won’t only have to face him, but the rest of my family as well. But if he were to hit me once, I’d’ve held nothing back. It is unknown how the fight would’ve ended; while I was no longer the weak kid I used to be, it’d be careless to underestimate a 63 year-old man’s fighting capabilities. If I were to win, however, I would’ve subjected him to all that humiliation I’ve suffered from him. Then, tell him that in all the years to come, in all his private moments, I want him to remember the one man who beat him: his weak grandson. Sadly, I’ve been denied that opportunity to find out, as that event led to me being up in Wisconsin. My mother, or my grandfather’s proxy, doesn’t trust me to live in the same house as him. Because of that, I’ve never been able to overcome this problem. It doesn’t help that it’s the fucking same as it’s been down there, and it’s worse when I started working as it’s just as bad, if not worse than high school. I had to deal with being isolated for the most part, with cliques, I had the misfortune of dealing with microaggressions and power plays. And there’s this one bitch who’s given me hell. Sadly the bullying is not direct, nor frequent enough. It doesn’t help that the bitch I’m dealing with is an old miserable hag, and that I’m in a town where I’m a stranger amongst the world who happens to know each other. There’s nothing I can do to fight back. If I do anything, everyone will turn on me. They would not care to understand my plight, not even the “friends” I’ve made in the past two years.
As of now, unbeknownst to everyone, I’m at my breaking point. Whenever I’m at work, or sometimes around my uncaring mother and stepfather, I feel like hitting something. The only time I feel relief at this point is when I”m planning my own suicide and working on my perfect method. Speaking to my counselor, my friends on Discord, and a friend from Arizona also helps, but at this point, I’m not even sure how much longer will that be enough to help me. Someone who knows of my plight would ask, “Nate, why don’t you move out and live on your own? Why don’t you try finding another job?”
The answer is simple as it is circular: I can’t run away. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of being rid of me. That, and I’ll never be able to move forward from this until I can fight back. I’ve been called a coward, weak, bitch, and all sorts of degrading things, and if I run away, I’d end up proving them right. The part where the argument becomes circular is the fact I’m not yet able to. I don’t know how to do it without facing serious repercussions. It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t kind of deal. I wonder though… Am I the coward, or are the people who’ve been fuking with me and bullies in general the cowards for attacking someone who is unable to fight back. It’s only when the victims snap will they ever back off. But they must be sure to never back down either, as if they give in under pressure, the aggressors will become even more vitriolic. I suppose to achieve that requires you to be in a position in which you have nothing to lose. I’ve recently watched a relevant scene in the anime, Baki the Grappler, where baki was to fight Muhammad Ali Jr to the death, and in that scene after Baki nearly kills Jr. before his father stops him, he says this: “He tried to take an opponent’s life, but wasn’t willing to risk his. Of course he’d be killed. He needs to be prepared for death.”
It’s called having killer resolve. When you have it, you essentially become unstoppable, enabling you to make the boldest of decisions. It is what separates a man from a god. With all that the common person has, they’re still vulnerable, because they have everything to lose, even their own lives. That is why they only prey on those they deem weaker than themselves and cower in fear when they realize they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.
All my life, I’ve been disempowered, and that itself is one of the major reasons, if not the sole reason for my suicidality. However, even during the beginning of my pursuit of a perfect method, I knew that this would merely be a catalyst for what’s to come, as in, I don’t plan on killing myself right after completing my method. Instead, I’ll be giving life a shot. Why? Because O have hope in the possibility that things are going to be different. No longer will I have to tolerate being abused and exploited . No longer will I have to settle for scraps. No longer have to be at the mercy of others. Consequences will become inconsequential, as the worst that can happen would be death, a quick and painless one at that. I’ll finally become the unstoppable force I was meant to be: a god. And from that point on, the next time someone tries to punch down on me, I hope they’re ready for that jaw-shattering explosion, because over the years, I’ve become proficient in punching upwards, both figuratively, and very literally.
For now, I need to perfect my method; and I’ll stop at nothing to see it through. My life depends on it, and until I manage to complete it, I’m going to remain powerless, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I know this may be extreme of me to go this far, but I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure a winning hand. If suicide is my ace in the hole, then so be it.
It was when I turned 14 I started holding back. Sure, it might’ve been for the best in some instances; because of my actions and my impulsiveness, I ended up in a special-ed program, and I had to work my ass off to get out of it. I’ve “come a long way”, as my former teachers like to tell me, and I’m grateful for their guidance, but I often question if it was truly worth it in the end. I’ve become too domesticated, and that made me vulnerable. People, starting with my family, began to pick up on it. My cousins would become even more antagonistic, as would my older brothers, especially my oldest brother (in the household). He’d steal from me, bully me (he once even threatened me with a pencil, and my aunt’s diabetic syringe). My grandfather and my aunt would abuse me even more, even going as far as to do power plays and humiliate me. It wasn’t until my senior year of high school when things became blatant.
There was a peer in my gym class named Nico Napoli, who sought out my weaknesses and as soon as he discovered them, he decided to make my life a living hell. He’d antagonize me by shoulder-checking me, calling me a nigger, and basically tell me how I’m never going to amount to anything, all sorts of crap. And with each occurrence, I do nothing about it. Normally, I’d react accordingly, but I’ve spent so long being so passive that whenever I face conflict, I end up in this “shock phase”, where I end up in a state of analysis paralysis, and by the time I finally manage to process it and figure out how to react, it’s too late. Not only that, I’d have to deal with the academic and legal repercussions, which will lead to the wrath of my family. As the days go by, other peers would pick up on it and join in the ridicule. Having to hold back at this point has made me resentful and full of pent up aggression. I wanted to make everyone suffer. If it weren’t for the very few people who treated me human, I might’ve gone down a dark path. Because I held back, however, I had to suffer, which over time, I became suicidal, but I guess that was when I began reassembling the pieces of my being that everyone went out of their way to shatter beyond recognition.
Years go by and I’d still go on to face the endless cycle of abuse. However, I began to notice something whenever I face enough in a short period of time: I snap.
One good example was when my aunt went and threw a cup at me and busted my lip. When I saw the sight of my own blood, I saw red. I got up and charged after her, before my mother, who instigated all this, got in my way. I shoved her repeatedly onto the couch (I had enough sense of reason to not hurt her), shouting at her to get out of my way, and that my aunt needs to pay for making me bleed, until mom’s ex-boyfriend came and deescalated the situation. I had to take a nightly walk to calm myself down. My damn cousins went out of their way to defend my aunt afterwards, demanding I apologize to her, despite the face she drew my blood over a barf bag.
The other instance was with my grandfather, gaslighting and threatening me as usual. However, I had too much restraint to fight him. Odds were greatly stacked against me. If I did anything, I won’t only have to face him, but the rest of my family as well. But if he were to hit me once, I’d’ve held nothing back. It is unknown how the fight would’ve ended; while I was no longer the weak kid I used to be, it’d be careless to underestimate a 63 year-old man’s fighting capabilities. If I were to win, however, I would’ve subjected him to all that humiliation I’ve suffered from him. Then, tell him that in all the years to come, in all his private moments, I want him to remember the one man who beat him: his weak grandson. Sadly, I’ve been denied that opportunity to find out, as that event led to me being up in Wisconsin. My mother, or my grandfather’s proxy, doesn’t trust me to live in the same house as him. Because of that, I’ve never been able to overcome this problem. It doesn’t help that it’s the fucking same as it’s been down there, and it’s worse when I started working as it’s just as bad, if not worse than high school. I had to deal with being isolated for the most part, with cliques, I had the misfortune of dealing with microaggressions and power plays. And there’s this one bitch who’s given me hell. Sadly the bullying is not direct, nor frequent enough. It doesn’t help that the bitch I’m dealing with is an old miserable hag, and that I’m in a town where I’m a stranger amongst the world who happens to know each other. There’s nothing I can do to fight back. If I do anything, everyone will turn on me. They would not care to understand my plight, not even the “friends” I’ve made in the past two years.
As of now, unbeknownst to everyone, I’m at my breaking point. Whenever I’m at work, or sometimes around my uncaring mother and stepfather, I feel like hitting something. The only time I feel relief at this point is when I”m planning my own suicide and working on my perfect method. Speaking to my counselor, my friends on Discord, and a friend from Arizona also helps, but at this point, I’m not even sure how much longer will that be enough to help me. Someone who knows of my plight would ask, “Nate, why don’t you move out and live on your own? Why don’t you try finding another job?”
The answer is simple as it is circular: I can’t run away. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of being rid of me. That, and I’ll never be able to move forward from this until I can fight back. I’ve been called a coward, weak, bitch, and all sorts of degrading things, and if I run away, I’d end up proving them right. The part where the argument becomes circular is the fact I’m not yet able to. I don’t know how to do it without facing serious repercussions. It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t kind of deal. I wonder though… Am I the coward, or are the people who’ve been fuking with me and bullies in general the cowards for attacking someone who is unable to fight back. It’s only when the victims snap will they ever back off. But they must be sure to never back down either, as if they give in under pressure, the aggressors will become even more vitriolic. I suppose to achieve that requires you to be in a position in which you have nothing to lose. I’ve recently watched a relevant scene in the anime, Baki the Grappler, where baki was to fight Muhammad Ali Jr to the death, and in that scene after Baki nearly kills Jr. before his father stops him, he says this: “He tried to take an opponent’s life, but wasn’t willing to risk his. Of course he’d be killed. He needs to be prepared for death.”
It’s called having killer resolve. When you have it, you essentially become unstoppable, enabling you to make the boldest of decisions. It is what separates a man from a god. With all that the common person has, they’re still vulnerable, because they have everything to lose, even their own lives. That is why they only prey on those they deem weaker than themselves and cower in fear when they realize they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.
All my life, I’ve been disempowered, and that itself is one of the major reasons, if not the sole reason for my suicidality. However, even during the beginning of my pursuit of a perfect method, I knew that this would merely be a catalyst for what’s to come, as in, I don’t plan on killing myself right after completing my method. Instead, I’ll be giving life a shot. Why? Because O have hope in the possibility that things are going to be different. No longer will I have to tolerate being abused and exploited . No longer will I have to settle for scraps. No longer have to be at the mercy of others. Consequences will become inconsequential, as the worst that can happen would be death, a quick and painless one at that. I’ll finally become the unstoppable force I was meant to be: a god. And from that point on, the next time someone tries to punch down on me, I hope they’re ready for that jaw-shattering explosion, because over the years, I’ve become proficient in punching upwards, both figuratively, and very literally.
For now, I need to perfect my method; and I’ll stop at nothing to see it through. My life depends on it, and until I manage to complete it, I’m going to remain powerless, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I know this may be extreme of me to go this far, but I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure a winning hand. If suicide is my ace in the hole, then so be it.
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