rgraham666
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2004
- Posts
- 43,689
I'm going to tell you a very personal story.
As you know, I grew up in a family where 'dysfunctional' would be a somewhat weak description of its dynamics.
All of the kids in it handled this in various ways. Me, by becoming a sullen and withdrawn person. One brother by becoming like my dad, constantly needling, always looking for soft spots, never missing a chance to make me feel bad about myself.
One day, my brother's doing what he does so well. And it hit home in exactly the wrong way.
There was a few seconds where I wanted only one thing. I wanted my brother to die.
I can remember that moment all too clearly almost forty years later. I was cold, utterly rational, completely without either remorse or pity. If I'd had a gun in my hands I would have pulled the trigger. A knife, I would have shoved it in and twisted.
Instead I placed my hand under his chin and shoved as hard as I could. This shows how rational I was. I had heard that doing so would drive the atlas joint in the neck through the spinal cord. And I wanted to do that.
Luckily, I didn't have the strength and skill to do it properly. All my brother got was a sore neck. My conscience came back about then, along with a massive amount of guilt. My defenses kicked in and I removed myself physically and emotionally from the situation. In some ways, I never came back.
Now you know why I'm so vehemently against inflicting death in any form. I've been there. I know what's required to do so and it is not a good thing.
And if it can happen to me, it can happen to anybody. The wide gulf so many put up between 'us' and 'them' does not exist for me. I'm not much better and not very different from the people so many of us want to kill.
Now you understand.
As you know, I grew up in a family where 'dysfunctional' would be a somewhat weak description of its dynamics.
All of the kids in it handled this in various ways. Me, by becoming a sullen and withdrawn person. One brother by becoming like my dad, constantly needling, always looking for soft spots, never missing a chance to make me feel bad about myself.
One day, my brother's doing what he does so well. And it hit home in exactly the wrong way.
There was a few seconds where I wanted only one thing. I wanted my brother to die.
I can remember that moment all too clearly almost forty years later. I was cold, utterly rational, completely without either remorse or pity. If I'd had a gun in my hands I would have pulled the trigger. A knife, I would have shoved it in and twisted.
Instead I placed my hand under his chin and shoved as hard as I could. This shows how rational I was. I had heard that doing so would drive the atlas joint in the neck through the spinal cord. And I wanted to do that.
Luckily, I didn't have the strength and skill to do it properly. All my brother got was a sore neck. My conscience came back about then, along with a massive amount of guilt. My defenses kicked in and I removed myself physically and emotionally from the situation. In some ways, I never came back.
Now you know why I'm so vehemently against inflicting death in any form. I've been there. I know what's required to do so and it is not a good thing.
And if it can happen to me, it can happen to anybody. The wide gulf so many put up between 'us' and 'them' does not exist for me. I'm not much better and not very different from the people so many of us want to kill.
Now you understand.