I think the first time for me was an older sister.

“Why are you hitting yourself?” – repeated over and over as they grab your wrists and use your own hands to punch your head. “Why are you hitting yourself, huh? What are you, some kind of a baby?” You stand there and take it. You take it because they’re bigger than you. You take it because you don’t have any experience fighting back. You take it because you hope they get bored and move on.

It pops out in my head like a snapshot. I remember what it felt like. I recall the shame of being made to feel helpless, and the shame of being weak. Shame stales your soul. Shame seeks consequence and retribution. Turned inward it is blue. Turned outward it is red. Turned inward it is depression, and self abuse, and drug addiction. Turned outward it is violence..

In a tiny little theatre in a tiny little town in the tiny beginnings of my life, I played in Romeo and Juliet. I was the cousin Tibalt. Red, very red and as an actor I was at liberty to experience what red was. I put on the costume and when the point of my epee found purchase, the red blood spurted from corset unto the ground at my feet. Even stage blood is slippery, but under the Klieg lights you are given permission. 

On the news the other day I saw a pleasant looking woman at a political rally. In between articulating her ideology she spoke of being a cage fighter. There are those that are simply born to hold the wrists of others.

I recently discovered a deposit of red. A few weeks ago, a friend died leaving money. The red that had lain dormant started oozing out and spilling over. How purely evil it felt. Shocking red. I was surprised by the smell of it, yet there it was, slippery on the floor.