When I was in 7th grade, I got jumped by a group of girls. The instigator was a hardcore bully who had been threatening to do it for weeks. She found me, started punching the crap out of me and while her friends held me down, something in me snapped. The next thing I knew, I had thrown her against a car, and was straddling her on the ground, punching her in the face. I distinctly remember feeling disconnected from the event and not knowing what the hell was going on, and being aware of the time passing and the raw violence. Her friends just kind of looked on not knowing what to do.
I screwed up her face pretty badly; there was blood everywhere and I broke her nose. When it occurred to me what I had done, I took off for home. It wasn’t something I was proud of; I was just happy to get out of there. I can’t imagine hitting anyone ever again.
In high school, this bully hooked up with a pretty rough, thug crowd, and got progressively more violent. She spent time in and out of jail and other institutions. When you look at her face, you can see the distortion in her nose. Needless to say, if I ever see her again, she’ll kill me. Seriously.