To a thing, 2009. I ruined a perfectly nice pillow earlier this year in hopes of releasing my pent-up anger over several assaults committed upon me by my “step-father”, his brother, my aunt and her son when I was a child.
To a person, 1981. Shortly after I’d turned 12, my cousin grabbed me by my hair and tried to slam my head into a wall. He’d just gotten yelled at and wanted to take it out on someone. I wrenched out of his grip and punched him with a couple of quick right jabs to the nose. He bled profusely. I don’t know if I was right, but I was defending myself, so I don’t feel guilty about it.
Wow, yeah, after that day, I never got physically violent with anyone, even when I could reasonably claim self-defence or was being otherwise attacked. But after I left “home,” no one has ever attacked me. Now, of course, I’m capable of killing someone with my bare hands.