Anger management 101

Having lived away from home for some 15 years now, I had actually forgotten how my birth family well and truely suck ass.

My relationship with my father has always been a stormy one...I love him fiercely in some ways...but I will never understand the man. We are too different to ever find true common ground other then the accident of blood.

He decided, somehow, in that foggy depths of space between his ears, that a reconcilliation with my stepbrother, my tormentor and abuser through much of my childhood, was in order. A ~surprise~ reconcilliation, at that.

This after years of dad pretending the abuse did not occur, ignoring all mention of it till last week then shocking me with a sudden heart to heart about it, in which i came away shaken, and somewhat relieved to have been able to finally tell him my thoughts on it all. I shared with him how much it fucked with me, mentally, and how long tit took me to oversome the fucked up ideas it left with me regarding sex. Somehow, out of that talk, dad decided that it was time to toss us into a room togteher.

I have not seen the stepbrother for 13 years. With good reason. And on the last occasion, we parted when i threatened to remove a vital part of his anatomy upon next meeting.

Despite all this, we managed, somehow to struggle through a tense yet argument-free meal. After which my father asked me to drive the stepbrother to a store. I was silly enough to agree, despite being scared. Actually, it is probably ~because~ i was scared that i agreed. I am all about overcoming things.

The ride there was silent. The ride back was not. The fucktard actually opened his mouth and made one of the crudest comments he could have mustered to me.

Now, anyone who has seen me truely angry knows to run.

As i said, hes a fucktard. He stayed put. I think, in some really screwy way, he was secure and assured that i would wilt and cower.

A moment later found the car being slammed into park in the middle of the streeet, me rounding the car on foot and physically dragging him from the vehicle. He called me a crazy bitch and tried to cimb back in. There was a brief scuffle, and i won, as he found himself on hands and knees eating a facefull of dirt. He stood up, turned around, and faced me.

Then I broke his nose.

That was unexpected.

I drove off and left him, with traffic stopped several cars deep in each direction, him holding his face and screaming obscenites at me, and my car splattered in his blood.

Back at my fathers, i stormed in, informing him that i was only there to pack and leave, and did so. Crashed with a cousin for the night. Immediately upon arriving at hers, i went to the toilet and proceeded to puke my guts out. When there was nothing left in me and the worst of the shakes were gone, so i was able to stand again, we got stupid drunk and washed down the car with buckets of soapy water.

My father arrived, explained he had driven off to pick up the stepbrother and deposited him at a friends house, in an attempt to convince me to return to his for the night after profuse apologizing - not for throwing us into a ring together...but apologized for asking me to give hima ride!

I refused, and he left. I went back to his for breakfast the next morning before spitting town. WE talked, but he was still uinable to see that i will NEVER be able to "get on" with him. I am, frankly, blown away that my dad would think this possible in any way.

And i am also reminded of how very alone we are in this world.

I remain, several days later, mixed about everything. I am, admitedly, proud, and smug about standing up to him. I am also feeling guilty, that, yet again, my responce was violence. I have a pattern of being backed into a corner and to come out swinging. Surely there are more productive ways of dealing with problems then maiming other people? I'm tired of being on the definsive, yet glad that i don't wither in the face of threat.

If someone else told me they had physically assulted someone who abused them as a child, i know i would stand and cheer. I have zero sympathy for the abuser in all this. And time does not cover all.

For the record, the abuse eventually ended when i turned on him physically then as well. But there was still something far more empowering about smacking him a good one while an adult, and with a definte measure of free will. As a child, i was merely fighting back. This time, i ~could~ have walked away, unharmed, but chose instead to not let it slide.

But i still wonder if i would have been better off turning and walking away when my father proudly announced we were both there to make nicey nicey.