Violence is a bit of a taboo topic I feel, in this era where the term “toxic masculinity” and “defund the police” are thrown around in a liberal fashion. However, a controlled application of violence is needed for defence, and applying law and order in any society. In days gone past a passionate disagreement could be resolved through a physical altercation in which the two assailants could shake hands afterwards. The disagreement might not be resolved but the venom of the passion is removed and an equal respect is left.

I grew up in a loving family and never saw any violence at home. My mother wouldn’t let me play rugby as a child as it was considered too violent and there was concern that I would get injured. In my primary school years I was bullied somewhat and never really learnt how to apply  violence. My brother and I would wrestle in a team against my father as a game growing up and it was a fun time with fond memories created. I was never an aggressive kid however, a shit stirrer yes, but aggressive no.

The result of being a shit stirrer though did get me in a few fights growing up. The first one being when I was in grade three in Canada, I was in a dispute with a younger child about who was going to be the goalie in a hockey match that was being played in the school yard. He would not budge and insisted that he was the goalie, as such I finished the argument with its not really a goal anyway it just a couple of markers. At this the kid attacked me, I retaliated with punches, however being a small child myself they weren’t very effective. His method of choice was scratching and he tore chunks off me, by the end of it I was covered in blood and he got off scott free.

Another time when I was in grade seven, I was playing in the street with the local neighbours and one of the kids drove his remote control car up my leg, I gave it a slight kick and it fell on its back. I laughed and so did others, the kid upset picked up his car and punched me in the face. I was stunned and didn’t know what to do, he stormed off to his house. Later at the dinner table I told the family what happened very matter of factly. My father responded “did you punch him back?” not wanting to let him down I said “yes”, his simple response “good”. However, in my head I was shocked that maybe I should have stood up for myself, and disappointed that I had not.

The next few years were difficult for me, as I mentioned in a previous post. I had a few fights in high school, one organised, others over so quick, separated by teachers, that nothing really happened. However, as mentioned previously I was a year younger and continued to be bullied. I did have a high pain tolerance however, and prided myself on taking a bit of punishment. I earned the nickname bruiser as I would always rock up to school with massive bruises on my arm, due to a game I would play with other teens of taking turns punching each other in the arm until one cannot take the pain anymore and forfeits.

I used to enjoy testing my metal, and I guess my cohort enjoyed testing it too. I remember fondly where I used to stand against a brick wall and from a point about 10 m away my friends would take turns throwing rocks at me as hard as they can at me with the intention of hitting me, I was pretty good at dodging them and the chips in the brick wall from the rocks impact is still there to this day.

Another time I aggravated one of my peers and he attacked me, I did not retaliate but rather made it a joke – screaming out mocking each blow he made. Eventually he got fed up, packed his bag and left. I think this proved to be more effective than any blow I could have.

This is not to say I had spurts of violence myself, although mine were mainly contained to the family unit. I remember at one point when I was about 15/16 I received a call from a mate, that a female friend had been mistreated and that we should sort the bloke out. It was somewhat late and I told my parents who were in bed that I was going out. They wouldn’t let me, adrenaline was running high in my blood, I told my parents what had happened and that I needed to go. They still wouldn’t let me go and my dad told me I was full of shit. I was enraged, partly because I felt that I needed to go and they were confining me, however the trigger was my father questioning my character. If he was in front of me, I would have attacked him right then and there, however he was lying in bed on the other side of the room, so in a rage I punched the wall several times putting a nice sized hole in it. I then ran out of the house up the road to my mates. We didn’t do anything else that night, but I needed to be there just to calm down. In hindsight, it was right of my parents not to let me go, and we would’ve only made things worse as  the police sorted things out. However, you couldn’t have told me that at the time, I saw our intent as a responsibility.

In my senior years of high school I played AFL and Rugby Union, this allowed me to vent aggression in a controlled manner. I am not very coordinated and as a result was not the best by any means at AFL, however I generally had a size advantage for my age group, and was somewhat of an enforcer on my team. I loved to put my body on the line and make tackles and big hits, I would often give away free kicks but I also received many for my defensive tackles, and on occasion I would injure a player taking him out of the game – I never played grubby but to say this wasn’t my intent would be a lie. I got a reputation for not being able to feel pain, this came after I was given a lift to a game by the coach, his son who was a key player in our team accidentally slammed my fingers in the door of the car when we were getting out. I didn’t flinch and calmly asked him if he could open the door so I could get my hand out. His mum saw and lost it, I was fine, a few bruises, but the story spread through the club quickly. That same day we played a team with several players that were bigger than myself, it is in these situations that I revel at the opportunity to test myself, I remember myself and one of the bigger players on the opposition making eye contact with the ball nearby and we made a beeline to each other attempting to hip and shoulder each other and shepard our other players. In the bump our heads clashed, I definitely felt the head clash, as well as having my body rocked from the bump of a larger player. However, I generally despised players that would stay down if they didn’t have a significant injury, and determined not to show any weakness in myself, I got up and started running with an intent to find open space. I ran in a full circle and fell down again, I was that dazed, I laugh now as it would have been quite a funny sight to see, and I take a small victory in the fact that the other player stayed down.

I started Rugby Union in my final year of school and it was quite an adjustment getting used to all of the rules. However my position of playing in the forwards, required far more grit than it did coordination and I took to it like a duck to water, receiving man of the match for my team in our highschool teams final appearance at Ballymore, at which we unfortunately lost. The opposing team had a much larger pack weight and we unfortunately couldn’t keep up. 

It was in this final game for our highschool team that I suffered my first shoulder subluxation/dislocation – I don’t know what it was, I never really got is diagnosed, all I know is that my shoulder would pop out of its socket, it hurt and to get it back in, I would have to rotate it back up above my head with my other arm and it would pop back in. When it happened I waved at the bench trying to signal that I was injured and to go off, the coach didn’t see me though so I popped it back in and kept playing.

This became a constant theme through my rugby playing days, the club was great trying to tape it up before every game, but it never worked, it fell out every game sometimes multiple times. The doctor said it would require surgery and extensive rehab, and it was only really worth it if I was a professional player. I also blame not doing weight training, while I was carrying some muscle, I was essentially an untrained young man that was very weak physically and got by throwing my body into every tackle.

It was during this period that I was a strong Christian, and while I loved physical confrontation in a controlled manner, I would often seek to defuse it outside of the footy field. I gained the reputation of breaking up fights at highschool parties, which continued on to schoolies and into pubs and clubs.

One evening this backfired spectacularly, I was out drinking with mates from work. We left the bar to go somewhere else and a fight was starting between two groups, we ran in and tried to break it up and the next thing we knew, we were in the middle of it. It was all a blur, but I remember boxing with one individual in the middle of a busy city street. That finished up and what I remember next is taking on another bloke on the footpath grabbing him by the shirt and laying punches into him while his girlfriend was hanging by my dreads and coping blows from my elbow as I wound up for the next punch. After probably a minute the police arrived and we all just stopped what we were doing and walked together down the street away from the scene. The group that we were engaging with turned right at an intersection around the block, not wanting a further altercation I turned left and crossed the street. The police quickly grabbed me, my first response was to yell out I’m not resisting, I had seen several instances of police brutality during nights in the town and didn’t want to give them a reason to rough me up. They took me back to where their cars were parked, cuffed me and had me sit on the ground against a wall.

I kept asking them if they had camera footage as it would show that we were trying to break it up. There was a man knocked out in the gutter, I had no idea who had done that, it could have been me for all I knew. He was taken away in an ambulance. Media was there to which I turned my back on, and eventually I was let go, as the cops were satisfied that I wasn’t an instigator.

Later that week, my mate was apparently called by one of the police men, to follow up and see how we were keeping up. Apparently during the fight one of us shouted back to back, I don’t remember this being spoken verbally but it is what happened . Anyway after the policeman checked in, he noted that we could handle ourselves, which is something we all no doubt took pride in.

…

Since then I have only had one physical altercation outside of the mental health context, it is something I will share at a later date. It is a story in itself as it came during a period while I was somewhat unwell in between hospitalisations.

I write this not to glorify violence, although I do feel controlled violence has its place, but to provide a bit of context to the reader as to my own relationship with it. I feel this is important, as I delve deeper into my episodes, which if one was to simply read doctor reports has a constant violent theme.