The revolution began small. It hardly made an impression on the very first time I went kickboxing. In reality, if it had been any weaker, the revolution would have been stamped out there and then- extinguished from existence. All Fear would have had to have done would be to send his Self-doubt troops to the source, declaring all the way "Kickboxing isn't for you! You'll get beaten up, and then you'll give up! You're not good enough for this". And I may well have listened to them, and my story could have been a completely different one.
But the revolution survived the first week, and rewarded me with an exhilarating thrill that I longed to feel again. I spent the whole of the first week after my first lesson excited, hardly able to believe what had happened. The excitement was based purely on the fact that something, ANYTHING, had disrupted Fear's plans to dominate every second and every faction of my life. That was its ambition. But that ambition had been spoiled by the 2 hours a week I spent in my kickboxing classes. There, in that sports hall with those friendly, smiley and chatty people, he had a weaker dominion over me for a few moments during the classes of that first month. After that, he had no dominion over me at all during those two hours. After a month, it had been firmly established that my kickboxing classes were making a solid weekly stand against the Empire of Fear within me. The rush of joy that I felt at realising that this Empire within me had a weakness, even if it was only for 2 hours a week, was amazing. In fact, I couldn't shut up about it. I would come out of the class, get into the car where my Mum or Dad was waiting to pick me up, and could barely restrain myself from telling them what had happened, every week, in detail, during the two hours. I felt myself smiling, for the first time that I can really remember, on those car journeys home after my first few months of kickboxing lessons.
Soon, the revolution went on the offensive. Anger wanted more concessions from Fear. Unhappy with the "2 hours a week" terms that had been drawn up, signed and kept to for a few weeks by both sides, Anger, still just a tiny spark in the revolution, but it's leader none the less, extended the terms to at least once a day as well. And Fear, seeing that he had no choice, capitulated. And so, after a couple of months, I also started enjoying bouts of relief from my fear during the week, too. It wouldn't be fair to say that I bounded into school one day, brimming with confidence, a changed boy over-night. It started off slowly, and subtly- I would smile occasionally with my friends at school, or laugh at something I found funny and was unafraid of the consequences. I would spend my free time thinking about my kickboxing classes, and challenging myself to see how much of what I'd learned I could remember. It made me happy to do so, and these tiny breaks from my constant sense of fear, when combined throughout the day, started to have an effect. Undoubtedly, those close to me, especially my family, had noticed a progressive change.
After 3 months, Fear was truly on the back foot. Anger had made it clear that he had no plans for peace. He was coming to take down the Empire of Fear. And after 3 months, he was strong enough to do it, and Fear knew this. As justification for his actions, Anger referred back to me as having given him a mandate to come in and act out his revolution. And it was true- I had. But it was also far deeper than that. The truth is that, aside from having given Anger permission to start a revolution against Fear, throughout the three months, I had begun to love him. He was brave and bold- he was exactly what I HADN'T been when I'd been Fear's slave. Most importantly, he had defeated my fear. He had brought down the Empire. I was in his debt. It was at this point that Fear, once mighty and debilitating, now defeated and meek, humiliated, slumped away from the battle-field of my mind.
And so began a brief period, when I was around 13, of uninterrupted happiness and peace within me. I would go every week to my kickboxing classes, and the most important thing that I'd come back home with was a sense of achievement, a feeling of ongoing hope as I became more comfortable within myself. I started making more jokes with my friends at school, and I stopped cowering in fear in the presence of larger, unknown kids. Most significant of all- I felt confident enough to smile. To my friends, first, but then also to my family, and to teachers (some of them).It is important that you understand how liberated I felt after just a few months of kickboxing. I was free to be happy. The Empire of Fear within me was in absolute ruin- barely a trace of its existence remained. Everyday, I wanted to dance and sing in celebration. I DID dance and sing. I whistled to myself as I folded the hate-filled front pages of my newspapers in on themselves, and recited the virtues that I had memorised which my kickboxing course had taught me, and which I'd learned by heart: "Patience. Discipline. Self-control. Honesty. Respect. Courage". At school, I danced and messed about with my friends, laughing all the time. I smiled more frequently, and more easily. In a few months, I had turned into the person I never thought I'd be able to be. It was an absolute transformation in less than six months from a cowering, trembling child into an outgoing, confident teenager. I lavished in the transformation. I urged it's quick progress on- I willed it to succeed within me.
Within a year, I'd got past my first couple of belts, and was a familiar name and face at the kickboxing classes. I was young and strong, and gaining confidence, and I never wanted the process to end. I was in awe at the different way I saw the world- the people, the ideas that had seemed so terrifying to me previously, giant monsters or grotesque figures who I'd thought constantly planned and schemed to destroy me- at school, on the bus, on the street; there was no hiding from them, except in the safety of my bedroom- these monsters turned out to be just people. Those paranoid ideas turned out to be lies. And as I progressed in my kickboxing classes, I began to feel that I could stand up to them, that, should they attack me, I could fight them off. I imagined scenarios in which I was attacked, and I thought about the many different ways I could defend myself.
Then, at around 14, I started going kickboxing sometimes twice a week. The added benefit of this was that my physical appearance became stronger, more defined, and I found that girls were starting to take notice of me. And best of all- I was able to speak to them. Not EVERY time, I'll admit, and I wasn't able to just go up to any girl and start talking with them (this is still secondary school, remember!). But I found that I had friends who were girls- they liked me; they liked being with me. I was able to make jokes with them. My group of friends was defined- and although we didn't always get on, I felt more sure that I wasn't truly alone than I'd ever felt before. I felt free, and fractionally (but assuredly) closer to being at peace with the world around me. I felt liked, and often truly comfortable.
And I saw my salvation, the one who had transformed me in this way, as my Anger. It was HIM who had led me towards kickboxing, which in turn had given me confidence. Anger had started the revolution against Fear, won the battle, defeated the Empire within me. I recognised early on what I believed to be a self-evident truth; that the way to stop being afraid was to replace that fear with anger, and squash it. "The best form of defence", Anger coached me, "is attack. Attack soon, and hard, and if possible FIRST. This way, you will defeat all enemies...""Yes", I consented, in awe at the logic. I decided he was right. I was so grateful that I was able to break out of my shell of constant anxiety, that I was willing to believe whatever he said, and to follow all his commands.
I owed him, and he knew it. He counted on it. He silently relished in it. In fact, while I bounded ahead through my early teenage years, just happy to be free from fear, making new friends I never thought possible, and enjoying a life I'd never imagined for myself, Anger watched me go.
...and as he watched me, the debt I owed him was all he thought about...
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I didn't sleep at all that night. I crouched down on the floor, to try to rest my legs, but my left hand was extended at an angle above my head. Crouched on the balls of my feet, shivering in the darkness, I bowed my head, and closed my eyes, wishing for sleep to take me away.
But it didn't. The position was too uncomfortable. And besides, I was fuming inside at the injustice of what I'd been subjected to. Who was this captor? He had given me no explanation of my crime... and still, I was his prisoner. As I crouched, my feet becoming ever more stiff, and my shoulder beginning to ache at the strain of my hand being held up for hours, I scrunched up my eyes, trying to comprehend it all, but secretly hoping that sleep would intervene and relieve me, briefly, from my suffering...
I would snap out if drowsiness with a start, wondering if I had drifted off for whole minutes, or just seconds. Every time I came too, the pain in my shoulder welcomed me with a horrific shock. I would stand up, in order to give feeling back to my legs. I would stand, leaning with my back against that merciless, cold and solid wall, my eyes closed, waiting for sleep to fall on me...
"What is happening here?", I thought to myself, my eyes closed, trying not to panic, and yet desperate for answers.
The days passed, rolled into one another, without pause or slowing down... and day after night, I was left alone to dwell on my sense of injustice. Standing there, or squatting there, or leaning on the wall there, in that dark little cell, I was left alone. I waggled my chained arm, to make sure it still had feeling. The chain hit against itself in its own cackling little melody for a few seconds..
And suddenly, I would feel the urge to pull it from the wall. With all my strength, powered by the anger I felt at having been held in captivity for so long, I would shoot my arm out ahead of me, and keep it held there. With a cry of desperation, I would put all my body weight into trying to move my hand further in front of me, further from the wall than the chain would allow. I would put one foot on the wall behind me, and furiously push, grunting and shouting through clenched teeth, my face red and strained, as I watched the tightened chain shake with tension...
But it was no use. The chain never broke, and in the dying seconds of my efforts to break it, I felt it laughing at my pathetic attempt. I succumbed, my foot joined my other foot on the floor. My hand dropped, slacking the chain with a rattle. My body fell against the wall behind me, and I spent the next minute panting, eyes closed, panting, and feeling nothing but tiredness. No anger, no injustice, no fear... just tiredness...
I realised I must have found at least a few minutes of sleep, as I was startled awake in my semi-seated crouching position, my back against the wall. I had been awoken by the sound of keys in a door. A heavy lock was being opened- a huge, metal sounding mechanism, clanking and vibrating against wood. I stayed still, my eyes wide open, my face half covered by the bend in my arm, my right hand with a sweaty grip on my left shoulder.
"What's happening...?", I thought, as the lock continued to work and rattle and clank, some distance in front of me. I peeked out from behind the bend in my right arm. I could see nothing in the darkness, and waited in fear for some resolution to what I was hearing.
After a few more seconds, I heard the door creek open. I wanted to speak, to shout out, but I kept quiet, for fear that I would make things worse. I heard my captor's footsteps tap on the floor on the cell side of the door, and as I heard the door creek and squeak close behind him, I shut my eyes tightly and buried my face in the crook of my arm again, trying to comfort myself from what I knew was about to happen...
