“Most people don’t,” she replies. “The difference is intensity. When you do care, how far does it go?”
“It doesn’t have a limit.”
“Is that devotion or control?”
“You think those are different?”
“Yes,” she answers calmly. “Devotion protects. Control eliminates uncertainty. Which one drives you?”
Devotion and control are one in the same for me.
“Devotion.”
She lets that sit.
“Have you ever enjoyed hurting someone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
I don’t pull punches.
“For what reason?”
“Because it worked.”
“Worked how?”
“It stopped the people that hurt me or tried to. It silenced the noise in my head. It made fear disappear.”
The first time I felt it was when I bashed my father’s skull in. It made me feel untouchable for a moment. It made the chaos easier to deal with.
“So violence regulates you.”
“It used to.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t need it as much.”
That's true. It’s also not the whole truth.
“That’s not the same as not wanting it.”
“I don’t wake up looking for it. And that's new.”
“What changed?”
“Responsibility.”
“Explain.”
“I have two teenagers who depend on me. I have a wife who believes I can be more than what I was built for. I can’t afford to be reckless.”
If I lose control now, it doesn’t just cost me. It costs them.
“So you restrain yourself for them.”
“Yes.”
