Weapons

I must say that pretty much every weapon one can think of tis one I have had to deal with in one way or another. I grew up in a very violent society and guns, bombs, fists, and fire were common everyday weapons that one had to dodge, face up to, outwit, or use oneself. I had access to a gun for as long as I remember and twas told to use it with no questions asked if need be. As far as knives go, my fascination with these goes far back as well. I have always carried one in my back pocket...again I twas of the belief that I would use it if need be. Sure it came in handy when I twas in need of a knife for cutting some string or unfastening a bolt or some such practical use as that. I got into a few fights and found that the knife came in handy when it came to winning the scrap or at least getting away from it. Another way that knife came in handy twas when I had to deal with my own personal pain. That pain I carried inside from years of abuse by my parents and feeling as if I had to do something to make myself better. I would carve my own flesh with the desire of feeling better by bringing my inner pain out into the open. I know that self-injury tis a cliche` nowadays so as a 30 year old man I shan't go into that issue any further. I found as I went into the arena of lovemaking that I and my partner enjoyed my using a knife for BDSM type activities. My first girlfriend/submissive allowed Me to carve My initials on her lower back and I often wonder...several years after our split...if she still bears that scar or if she has managed to cover it up, or if time itself has erased it. Unfortunately twas a knife that helped land me in prison. As I stated earlier I have always carried one and when a brawl broke out in a pub between three others and a mate and myself I wound up using the knife...and one of my foes landed in a coffin. I cannot entirely blame the knife because with all weapons of this type tis the person who holds the weapon who has the control. I feel that I lost control and now...as a result I shall wind up losing six years of my life.
On to other not so obvious weapons but just as destructive and lethal. I came from a very bad family situation. My father twas abusive to the point of being a terrorist. Because of what he put me through I can forever say that anything that happens to me in prison or elsewhere in life I can handle. If I survived my father's torture then I believe there tis a reason I survived. I have something to give others because of what I went through. Perhaps my future lies in working with children who have been abused as well. Not sure yet but as the future unfolds I shall be keeping my eyes...and mind...open to the possibilities. If possible my mother's abuse twas worse than my father's. At least with Da I knew what to expect. With Ma the very unpredictability of her behaviour twas its own brand of torment. As I write this I realize that getting over what she put me through tis likely going to be a more difficult process than getting past the torment that my father inflicted. What she did to me hurt far more in the long run.
Drug addiction and alcoholism go hand in hand for me. Well first off I am Irish...given whiskey in my bottle as a baby to calm me, family dinners always included pints of ale to wash them down, first rites of passage involved teenage drinking games that only ended when we all passed out cold. The drugs were not such a socially acceptable indulgence of course. Always there was the drinking...the drugs came as a result of trying to deal with emotions that I did not wish to face. Anger, hurt, grief, shame, embarrassment, loss, most of all the burning self-hatred that consumed me so much of the time. Smoking something, popping some pills, sticking a needle in my arm, so many ways out and many times I did not choose just one at a time but ingested as much as I could possibly consume. I used drugs and alcohol as my weapons against having to feel...but like many weapons can do, they turned against me in the end.
Every negative emotion I have ever felt, every past hurt I have experienced, I used my weapons to fight against. As already mentioned, drugs and alcohol served me well. Being mean, tough, strong, literally a bully in life also served me well. Becoming a Master in the BDSM manner twas definitely I way that I fought against feelings and made compensation for what I went through in my early life. I also turned to Satanic practices and beliefs. Because my father had called himself a Christian I felt that there was nothing for me in that religion so I went the completely opposite direction. I used Satan as a weapon against the anger and pain, and I used demanding to be respected as another weapon.
As I have expressed, I have had weapons used against me but I feel that I have used even more weapons in retaliation in the end. This has come at a great price for me. At this point in my life I feel as if tis time to lay some of those weapons down and be grateful that I have survived thus far. I believe that I need to take that gratitude and turn it into something positive in the future. I have had far too much negativity in my life.
I turn for help within myself as well as allowing my therapist to show me options that are possible besides the ones I have already been using. I turn to friends and those that have managed to love me and inspire love within me for help. At this point I have a wonderful person in my life who helps me more than anyone ever has. Perhaps love shall be my weapon of choice in the future.