I will occasionally pause to ask if I can throw something (usually my keys, which I will then throw on the ground over and over until I get a satisfying noise out of them), but that's a stress-release thing, and never aimed at someone.

Oh yeah. I spanked (more like a pat on the diapered rear), but had to quit when StY proved trenchantly stubborn, even when I paddled hard enough to break veins in my fingers.

Okay, a) I was raised in a "spare the rod" environment and had to *learn* alternate behavior, and b) I break veins in my fingers opening my lingerie drawer. So, that first paragraph? Not nearly as violent as it sounds.

That's me. And I'm big enough to have done some damage.

I just hate that pounding surge of adrenaline and the full-blown gut reaction to it. I've only ever reacted violently--not acted--which is to say I took out a guy who was trying to trample me at a concert and a girl who punched me in the face and ripped my shirt open because her friend liked a guy who liked me (I was 15, she was 18).

I've thoroughly examined it while trying to be detached and academic about it because it scares me how close I could be to that kind of instinctive violence.

I like to read about how women react to that feeling, though, if it's well done. Because I can't usually find the words to describe how I felt at those distinct moments.

I never had any of the "girls don't act violent" thing, and certainly never of the "children never display anger" deal. I basically slid out the chute telling the doctor to fuck off, and I've been pretty rasty ever since.

I did punch something once, back in the days of NicholasRevOne; the wall. It was before the plastic in my fingers, post-car crash surgery, had completely set, and I went straight through the kitchen wall. We got a lift to marin General Hospital and they wrapped up the fingers, but the index and middle fingers of my right hand - the "Goddamnit I am TIRED OF THIS AND CAN'T DEAL" punch the wall hand - healed crooked and required a second skin graft later.

I never punched anything after that. And these days, I have language and can cut people to shreds with it. Much safer all around.

I've thoroughly examined it while trying to be detached and academic about it because it scares me how close I could be to that kind of instinctive violence.

This is part of the reason I left the kids with the ex-husband. The anger directed at him was emerging more frequently around the kids and directed at them, the poor little sods. I got out while I could. If I'd had someone around who I felt comfortable talking to about this, I might have learned how to deal with it appropriately. Instead, it was a point in time when seeing a therapist was still kind of frowned upon. If there were any parenting classes available, I didn't have a clue where to look and I was too damned afraid to say anything to anyone because they so easily took kids away and I hadn't done anything yet, it was what I was afraid I'd do. I didn't learn how to ask for help until I was in my 30's. I wish I'd wised up a little sooner.

Oh, and here's something you might find interesting, Deb. Silent Auction.

Firearms.

They scare the daylights out of me.

I've never thrown anything at someone.

Once, I did. And I really don't. ever. She pushed me really hard, past enduring. I flipped out.

erika, I am all about flipping out as a method of showing stupid people that there are lines they're supposed to stay well the fuck behind.

Susan, I'd seen the auction; I'd love the signed LP standard, signed by Les Paul, but none of the others are really talking to me.

Someone wants to put up their Zemaitis, now....or their PRS private stock...

I have hit people, and the most frightening thing about it is that I wasn't angry at all at the times. It's generally someone who has made a habit of being annoying to me, and for whatever reason, something they do, generally not at all out of the ordinary, ticks me off over the edge. Some switch in my head moves over to "This creature is no longer of any worth to the universe, and its absence is desireable", and my hand is moving. It's very calm and cold, and my reaction completely depends on what I have to hand at the moment. I once blinked and found my husband using his not-inconsiderable strength to stop me from using a shopping cart to slam a grade-schooler into a wall at the supermarket. He had been behind me some distance the last I'd noticed. "How did you know?" I asked him once the socialization circuits came back and I reacquired language. "I heard you lock on that kid," he said. "Did I say something?" "No. But I heard you lock on." I disturb myself sometimes.

I've never thrown anything at another person, and I've only once made to physically attack someone. I was 12 or 13, it was in school, and friends restrained me. I've never felt that urge before or since, and I can't remember what it was that made that time different.

My lack of aversion to firearms is well-established, though I don't (yet) own one. When we were going through some of my dad's stuff after the funeral, the line dividing the firearms-averse from those clustered around the guns wasn't male vs. female, but born an S. vs. married one. However, I was the only S.-born female in the room, and it's just possible that I'm not typical.