Friday, October 20, 2017
What's the difference between boxing with gloves and punching bags and just going through the moves? The gloves are here to protect your fists, and the punching bags are here to stop you. They push back. They make you hit something, rather than just... air.
But no matter how thick the glove is, hitting actual stuff will damage your hand, isn't it? I know it seems nonsensical- you're boxing, yet you're afraid to "be hurt"?
Well, I'm preventing unnecessary damage. Look at it like that.
Anyway. Without obstruction I can actually move more freely.
I thought about it, Diary. Why do people sign up for yoga class, Pilate class - it's a social thing. Wouldn't it be more fun to invent your own moves? Find positions that you find most comfortable to you. In a class you're going through somebody else's routine... you're a machine.
If you always think like that, you won't go to any social event.
Anyways. I've decided to invent my own moves. It turned out to be a kind of hybrid dance & fight thing. I found that I almost throw myself with my punch. That's what happens when nothing is stopping you.
I won't feel safe until I'm physically stronger than most people I encounter.
I am very wary, Diary. When I'm alone. I don't seek out such information but every time I come across a report that a woman is assaulted, I become warier. Holy shit I never said "warier" before. Say "Warier". It's a weird word.
I know most women can't be stronger than most men, but I'm not leaving anything to chances, and I certainly am not counting on people's "good nature".
I want to go for midnight walks like I told you months ago, and it could be perfectly safe to do so, but I have no certainty. I watched a really fucked up show recently, it's based on a real case story... one of the worst, most inhumane serial murders in human history.
I don't wear makeup, but I never doubt that a 10 is as desirable as a 0 in a horny man's mind. Men are truly horrifying when they're horny. Sometimes I have the impression that at least 20% of all women have been harassed or hurt in their life, just cause they look vulnerable. I won't ever let myself experience that. Never. At all cost.
As with everything, the best tactics is to prepare yourself. Not rely on weapons and stuff, but to make yourself stronger. Anything can be used as weapon. If I'm near a tree, I'll snap a twig. I'll pick something from the floor or the trash can even. Hey, pretty sure you can suffocate someone if you wrap the trash bag around their neck. All else is auxiliary, I have to be strong first.
I'm not complaining or anything. I'm still an animal. An animal has physical needs to be strong.
I'm truly lucky that every one I have met in my life has been non-violent, except my dad. I think he scarred me. I wonder how I would've turned out if he didn't beat me and kicked me like a football. He used to shut me in a room and lock the door and then shut the blinds on the window before slapping and hitting me. Dragging me across the room and kicking me until I knelt. He was kind of like a soldier, you know? It was like a routine. It happened so many times. I will always remember. As soon as the blinds are shut, I'm fucked.
Not literally. Holy God. Thank God not literally.
But I was still beaten up pretty badly though. I don't think I'll see him again for the rest of my life, Diary.
I think I've gotten over it pretty much, and being thousands of miles away helps. We despise each other anyways. But I honestly don't know which of us will die first. It can be me. It's probably me.
The trust issue only developed in recent years, it has nothing to do with family. Therefore it is legitimate. It's my own. It's curious that so many people develop trust issues. Yet we are all here, trying to make positive changes in the world.
I wonder why he didn't kill me after I bought that Tibetan knife.
I am cautious, but pretty stupid, too. My hatred toward him prolly peaked when I was 12 or so. Now that I think about it, it was possibly around the time he broke my leg. I got a Tibetan dagger with golden sheath in a flea market, and every time I was beaten I would cry by the window, my cheeks burning (from slapping, cause there was always slapping) and carve on the blade with a ballpoint pen that ran out of ink :
Sword of Vengeance
I mean, they must've seen it. It's a dagger, in a sheath. I just placed it behind the curtains on the windowsill. By the 20th time the words must be totally visible. They must've seen it tons of times. I seriously considered using that dagger. To kill him or kill myself. Every time he hit me for over an hour because of trivial...
Some retards would come by our house when I was little, as young as 6, I think. Or 4. Every time they would ask my name and my age, and I'd get tired of their shit by the third time around. That's when I'd say to them: "If you are not interested then don't even ask, I told you 3 times already. If you can't even remember a number then don't bother."
- It's how I feel when I see people teasing a kid the same way over and over again even today
That is pretty rude for a kid, but I never apologize for it. That's the kind of thing he beat me for. I bet if you take it to some parents they would totally approve. - Of him hitting me, of course.
I am that rude, Diary. 20 years have passed, for all the shit I endured as a child, I have made sure nothing has changed.
And I may have developed a unconventional... I'll put it this way. If a 6 year old asks me to buy them cigarette and alcohol, I'll do it. If I believe it's their will. I won't suddenly take charge of their "well-being". I respect a 6 year old as much as I respect anybody. I respect autonomy, will and independence too much. It's probably because when I was 6, I had wished an adult would've treated me like a human being & listened to me. I guess it's some sort of... over-compensation?
In addition, every time I look at a kid or monkey for more than 10 seconds I feel like crying. I never do, it's just something deep within me hopes they're not beaten at home. Monkey is just an anthrop close relative thing. Spain may help me with that, since the kids here look pretty happy. They're actually pretty wild, bouncing balls and themselves off the walls and stuff. Yeah they're really pretty wild, nobody can tame them.
Sorry to unload on you. Everybody has a past. Mine isn't so bad. Like I told you, I am extremely entitled. I feel like I'm entitled to a childhood without beating, that's why I'm still a little bitter when I recall. But it's nothing anymore. I've really moved on. This is the third time I talked to you about this, and I intend to make it the last time.
Now, I would benefit a lot from being able to take midnight walks, do whatever I want without the concern of being assaulted. So the idea is to become physically strong. I don't want to give it any pause when I'm think about doing stuff like this. I want to make sure I can take down whoever comes at me quickly enough.
In other words, the need to carry pepper spray at all means one is not ready. No. I will take midnight walks to whatever neighborhood I feel like going with just keys in my pocket. Not only in this country - wherever I go.
I don't want to worry about "what if" ever again.
Therefore I don't need yoga classes, Diary. I had plenty of those in the past, and I couldn't persist. I don't need to sign up for boxing sessions, either.
What I need to do is find ways I find fit to train, and figure out for myself how to protect myself. So I'll do that. It's no a waste of time. Before woman, I am first and foremost an animal. An animal needs to protect itself.
I'll probably never know what it's like to rely on someone else in my life. That's OK. That gives me certainty and peace of mind.
It did manifest in other ways, Diary, if you think about the old things.
I don't know.
Maybe I have too much on my hands and on my mind. I just can't take more aggravation. I can't take worries on my safety, like what the fuck- who the fuck has time for that. Everything else can't bring me a shred of annoyance. It just can't.
Why did I tell you so much.
What is life. What is a past. Cut my palm in the kitchen today. Small slit. Don't hurt that much. Shouldn't have got Italian peppers, wrong pepper. Not sure what the right pepper is called around here. They might not even have it.
Do you find solace in being ordinary? A slice of ordinary? A face of ordinary on a diamond with a thousand faces? Or . . .