Here is one man’s story of how he took personal responsibility for anger management and domestic violence in his own life. It can serve as road map for Everyman, and a pathway to personal responsibility.
The mainstream media across the world seems hell bent on convincing us of the rising Tsunami of male on female sexual violence as it misnames and misgenders intimate partner violence, harrassment, intimidation and sundry unsavoury practices.
This blatant and pervasive propaganda simply isn’t reflected in the research.
While perusing An Overview of 2010 Findings on Victimization by Sexual Orientation, NISVS, I found this on page 1.
“Sexual minority respondents reported levels of intimate partner violence at rates equal to or higher than those of heterosexuals.
• Forty-four percent of lesbian women, 61% of bisexual women, and 35% of heterosexual women experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
• Twenty-six percent of gay men, 37% of bisexual men, and 29% of heterosexual men experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner at some point in their lifetime.
• Approximately 1 in 5 bisexual women (22%) and nearly 1 in 10 heterosexual women (9%) have been raped by an intimate partner in their lifetime.”
This clearly spells out the accuracy of a narrative circulating within Men’s Rights writing for years now:
N.B. The single strongest predictor of interpersonal friction to any degree within a relationship, is the presence of a woman in that relationship.
One is bad, two is worse.
So I decided to take the world of feminism at face value and accept the challenge that, as a man, the ending of violence in my home was entirely on me. A burden that I must shoulder alone, without her help. A unilateral effort to end all anger and aggression, micro or macro.
This decision led me to doing my own experiment on how to reduce to zero the prevalence of all anger, abuse, intimidation, threats and violence in the domestic situation.
I have cured Domestic Violence in my house.
I simply made it a female free space.
There are no women in my home.
Oddly, there is no stress now either.
Isn’t that weird?
No arguing, tears, temper tantrums, dirty looks, cold silences, evil glares, surly seething, bewildering complaints, predictable nagging, or pointless criticism.
No sexual or emotional withholding.
No interpersonal friction what so ever.
I can’t remember the last psychotic outburst I saw.
The complete absence of PMS rises in the east every morning and sets in the west in the evening.
No make up in the bathroom.
No plug monster.
No clothes all over the floor or hanging over the shower.
All my shit is right where I left it.
So is the toilet seat.
What’s a Honey Do list?
The boat plans stay on the dining room table until I move them.
Nothing of mine is in the bin that I didn’t put there.
My money stays in the bank unless I withdraw it.
I pay for me.
Financially parasite free.
A tick free zone.
I hog the doona, the sheets, the pillows, the whole damn bed.
It’s like the entire house is now the regional seat of reason and logic.
Nothing happens in this house that doesn’t make sense to me.
Even the irrational outbreak of world peace and quiet at my place.
Nobody throws idiot arguments at me, ever.
I don’t get randomly humiliated in public or private any more.
What’s up with that?
I never have to defend myself for no apparent reason.
Not so much as an honest misunderstanding.
Nothing ever gets rehashed from 1986.
Seems I don’t have a record any more.
I’m never guilty just because penis.
I don’t do probation.
I don’t get accused of shit.
Haven’t been falsely accused all morning.
Now that’s a big one.
You’d think the amount of worrying I just don’t do any more would be worrying.
No amount of cold fat arse and ungrateful resentment or out of control psychosis and well founded insecurities is worth giving that up for.
There is no reason a man ever need suffer DV again when it is so easily corrected.
You want some poon?
Or more correctly, does she want the Dick and you feel like putting out?
Go back to her house.
My home is my castle.
Not paying cold cash for sex seems to make many women feel entitled to your sperm and money.
Baby rabies is a thing.
Wear a condom, one you brought and she has had no chance to poke a hole in.
Dispose of it very carefully.
Bring a resealable plastic bag and take it home.
And if she rages out at you for it, if she calls the police, accusing you of violence, remember, you volunteered.
No women or children were harmed in this experiment.