Untitled, By Unknown

18: I didn't stab him on purpose, ok?

Writing time: 28th November- 5th December 2016

'How can you be so Doctor Evil? You're bringing out a side of me that I don't know'- Kanye West, Heartless, 2009. Before I say anything else, do not judge me, okay? It was in the trailer for 'The Girl on the Train', I liked it there, but couldn't find the edited version used so got the original instead. I'm sorry. On a slightly related note, the aforementioned film is fantastic. Absolutely fantastic, and you know what? So was I (sorry- but come on, who isn't an Eccleston fan). I didn't read the book beforehand, wanting to go in blind, and it made it so much better.

I get angry.

Never excessively. I don't descend into a Hulk-like rage. But just the tiniest little things can set me off. The poor excuse for drawing a clock? My breakdowns? My breakups? Obviously, they're mostly quite big things. But remembering these things. The slightest flash of a prior day can send a violent twitch through me. You'd never know- mainly because I never do it in company. You'll never see the clenching of the fists, the aggressive stance, the quick and slight lunge towards the mental foe, lashing out as if it will have an effect. But it's there.
You might remember my ex mentioning it. That angry look on my face that terrified him. That ruined us. The worry conveyed through the later messages. The fear when I became scared of myself. Despite the sarcastic humour I draw from the relationship ending due to a misread expression, I occasionally wonder: was he wrong? Had I appeared that way to him? At the time, I'd scoffed. Thought he was clearly mistaken, and that I could never be like that. Then it became obvious. I could be.
I've no idea when it came on. Certainly after the breakup. But I can't pinpoint an exact date or even anywhere close. I just became aware it was happening, and that my ex's comments were not perception but prophecy.
It scares me. Granted, I can keep it under control and it's hardly an issue, but there's always the constant worry something will go wrong. I'll relax for a second, and then suddenly be the complete opposite of that state. I know I won't be able to hurt anyone (physically or emotionally), but the fact I might try, the fact I might want to... it's disturbing. But that's not me. Right?
I can channel it- sort of. The only way I can find to express myself is through punching, although my room makes this impossible to do. There's nothing to punch without injury. The closest thing I've got is attacking my door. The multiple coats and hoodies are able to soften the blows. It's not the best system, but it's something. Hey, I'll take it.
Actually, I tell a lie. You may have seen it. Not like I've described, but hints of it. They've been there. The rage I showed over the clock in Law. The intensity with which I played that quiz game after the last breakup. There's probably more.
Well, I say hints. There was one particular incident that really highlights it. Anybody who's known me for the last few years will have likely heard this story. They find it funny. I don't.

Y8. About March (I think. Almost definitely late winter- early spring). A history class.
That day was a particularly exciting lesson. We were studying the trial and execution of King Charles I. Always fun to talk about death- hey, as long as it's not your own, right? Or somebody you know, I suppose. But mainly yourself.
Now, to make the subject more enjoyable, the teacher decided it would be fun if the events were put to script and we were to act it out. She was right. We divided ourselves into groups, each one given a section of the text, and walked down to the hall so we could perform on the actual stage. In the interest of student involvement, we were all to perform part of it- which is a clever way of doing it, but meant some awkward shuffling on and off stage, especially from the less enthusiastic participants. For our group however, the stars of the drama department, it was a joy. We freaking owned that stage for about two minutes. Certainly, our brief show was one of the most memorable due to the person playing the soon-to-be decapitated King himself (spoilers) deciding to use the voice of Bane to bring the character to life. As I said at the time: "Charles Bane Stewart, everyone." Not the most inventive phrase, but one that accurately summed up what had just been witnessed by the group.
Unfortunately, this break from the norm couldn't last, and we were shepherded back to the classroom. This was accompanied by actual work (oh, the horror), various questions on the actual trial. Strangely, none came up comparing the accused to a character in what shall henceforth be known as 'Nolan's off day'.
This was where it all went wrong.
An important fact you have to know is that I sat right in the back corner of the room, well away from the prying glances of staff. The teacher trusted me anyway; it's not like I had anything to hide from her. The point is, this area of the room could barely be seen from her desk and wouldn't be strongly observed in the first place. Which some used to their advantage.
The people on the table across from mine had decided to bother me. We were friends, so they were likely just doing it in jest. But it was annoying. They would creep up to my table, whisper things from their seats. Nothing serious, just irritating. I could cope, but I was getting progressively more infuriated. Of course, the clear thing to do was simply stick my hand up, inform the teacher, and the consequence of their actions would be over before I enacted it. Naturally, I didn't do this (I can be illogical too, you know). This was for two reasons: One, I didn't want to get the reputation of a snitch- I'd already had that verbally beaten out of me. Two, I was too awkward to. This may sound familiar. I once felt ill in a lesson, and took 90 minutes to mention anything. I'd actually moved on to the next class. So yeah. This was a habit I was yet to drop (and still haven't).
So, my annoyance grew. Then one decided to walk over to me again. Here, I snapped.
Oh dear.
On instinct, I jabbed at him with my pen. Just a gesture of 'go away'. But I'd been working. The pen lid was off. And he was remarkably close. Close enough to not be able to dodge.
One pen, one arm. Bullseye.
Immediately, he cried out. To be fair, he had just been stabbed. Unluckily for me, he had no limitations for alerting the teacher to his plight. Upon his speech, the class fell silent: That quiet, puny, nerdy kid at the back that everyone knew but most didn't want to- he'd just attacked someone?
Yes. Yes, he had.
The wounded one and I were kept back. He told the story. I explained he'd been annoying me. This wasn't enough of an excuse. The occurrence was registered on the school system. Great.
Jokes and reminders about this event have continued for years. The person I stabbed used to claim he still had a mark.
Now of course, this was a one-off. I didn't go around assaulting students for the hell of it. It was a genuine mistake I hoped never to repeat. But when the anger started to resurface... this came to mind. Not that I would ever reach anything like this again- I hope. I'm sure.
(Well, mostly sure. That's good enough, isn't it?)