Self Reflection

Here's some good old fashioned open honesty for all of you. Warning: It gets deep.


I'm one of those types with a metabolism that's way too fast for their own good. You know the type... on one hand they can eat whatever they want and never get fat, cool, but on the other hand they're unlikely to really pack on much muscle either.


So, to put it simply, I'm pretty skinny. Always have been. Even now, after all the conditioning I've endured in the Marine Corps, I'm only about 165lbs at 6' tall. Granted, all the muscle I have is real muscle, not just water like bodybuilders tend to pack on with all the supplements and crap, so I'm much stronger than I look. Or so my sparring partners tell me. Anyway...


So, being the skinny white kid, you all can probably imagine the social upbringing I had. I was the kid people liked to pick on. I developed a severe temper, to put it VERY mildly, and began starting fights with anyone and everyone, regardless of whether or not I could finish them. That actually worked out fairly well for me, to be honest. I quickly learned that most kids who acted tough often went down twice as fast as the quiet kids did. Go figure.


But even the ones who could handle me began to avoid me just because they didn't want to fight me anymore. Sure, they'd win, but they'd take a few bruises in the process and they realized I really didn't give a shit about losing, I'd come back and fight them some more the next day. So now all of a sudden the skinny kid had a reputation for being... well, a violent psychopath, basically. Even the seniors who towered over me and weighed twice what I did warned their friends in lower grades to stay away from me. I felt proud of myself, kinda, but at the same time all of a sudden I was the bully. I had become what I hated.


And this is where the mentality began that ultimately lead to me joining the Marine Corps. If I was the bully, then I was in the position to do what I always thought they should have done. To put it in the most ridiculously cliche way imaginable, I could use my powers for good. I still had serious rage issues, fueled by the fact that my mother was killed when I was 11 and her killer, though identified and arrested, went practically scot-free because his father was the chief of police and pulled strings, plus a few other things working in his favor. So now, I directed my anger at those who were still picking on kids who were like me... underdogs. Weak, or timid, or anything else that made them targets for bullies.


This, too, worked out phenomenally in my favor. Somehow, this one behavioral trend won me popularity on both sides of the table... adoration from the outcasts and the underdogs, and a strange sort of respect from those I fearlessly (recklessly?) thrashed in their defense even if it meant I was the one lying on the floor when it was over. It was only natural, now that I had fallen so naturally into this role, that I signed up to be a Marine when I got out. Ah, the Marines. Selfless defenders of the entire nation, and psychotic to boot. Perfect.


The Marine Corps met me flawlessly. The pecking order was all but gone. There was no survival of the fittest, no to the victor go the spoils. There was only the team, only your brothers. The leaders, the ones respected most, were not the biggest or the strongest or the fastest, but the ones who learned that lesson best and remembered it well: There is only the team. A single living, breathing, beast, wrought of men and guns and pride and honor. There was no thought for who was better than who... only we, the beast, and them, the enemy. No more bullies and underdogs. No more pecking order.


Yet to this day, I still harbor hatred for those who think themselves better than their peers for having superior strength, intellect, attractiveness, etc etc. I would be lying if I told you that when I signed up to become a MCMAP instructor, I wasn't motivated by a desire to be able to dominate them. ALL of them. The bullies, the ones who think being bigger and stronger makes them better. In school I fought them, but couldn't always win... I wanted to change that.


And now here I am... a Marine Corps MAI. Martial Arts Instructor, for those who don't know the acronym. I teach hand to hand combat to other Marines. Skinny little 165lb Kaustic. I wonder, if I knew then what I know now, how many fights I might have lost, and whether or not I would have developed the same mentality. A protector, and not just another bully. They say the power to dominate men corrupts the soul. What might I have become if I had that power then, before I had been tempered to loathe those who wield it only for themselves?


Anyway, what ironically what brought all this to mind was some guy commenting on one of the features about how much he can lift, and who no shit ended his comment with "me > u". Yeah I know he's probably full of shit, like half the people on the internet. The entire comment was probably made up just to stir up shit. Still, I couldn't resist commenting that there are no muscles protecting the carotid arteries, and that all his strength couldn't save him from a professional fighter. Heh, me of all people, talking shit on the internet about fighting. Color me hypocrite.


Made me think, though, about why I felt the need to answer him. It's not the first time. I've humiliated bouncers in clubs and muscleheads in gyms before who started talking shit because they had biceps bigger than my head, so that must make them more of a man than I am right? Until they're on their knees because I snatched their hand and twisted their wrist the wrong way, or lying on the floor in a daze wondering what the hell just happened because they got a quick chop to the carotid artery. How embarassing for them.


No muscles in the wrist... no muscles in the neck. Weakpoints that no amount of lifting will change. I can name a dozen more off the top of my head. The response is just automatic, even after all these years... I can't stand people who think they're better just because they're stronger, and I can't resist the impulse to take them down a few notches every time I see them. Am I just getting revenge for the years I was picked on? Or is this a product of my now long-established mission to protect the underdogs from the bullies? There were no underdogs there, they weren't hurting anyone... they were just flexing their egos. Aren't I supposed to be protecting them, too? Am I becoming the bully again?


They say the power to dominate men corrupts the soul.

Uploaded 10/23/2008
  • 0 Favorites
  • Flag
  • Stumble
  • Pin It