NNewcomb wrote on Jun 11^th, 2011 at 3:29pm:

CoolP wrote on Jun 11th, 2011 at 6:40am: What happened, Mark? A violent kid becoming such a nice and helpful guy? Yeah Mark what did happen?  ;D

Some background to take into account before I answer that. The difference between being my friend and NOT my friend, was very little. Most of my childhood friends suffered similar fates to those who chose to not be my friend or be nice to me. I beat up anyone who "p*ssed me off" (excuse the language there). My father was in the RAAF, we moved every year (except for two and a half years in Malaysia). At every new school I went to, the school bully would single me out and come to get me (I was small kid). Once I had sorted them out, you either became my friend or the same thing might, and quite often did, happen to you. When I was 11 I beat up my 4 best friends when they pissed me off, not at the same time, but over the course of the year. I was extremely vicious towards them when it happened. That same year I almost killed a neighbor of mine. I had chased him into his home and I had him on the floor with my hands around his throat squeezing with all my might, while bashing his head against a wall. Unfortunately for him, his parents weren't home at the time, but another neighbor had seen me chasing him in there. That's not surprising really, he knew what was going to happen to him when (not if) I caught him so he was screaming in fear of what was about to happen. I believe that I would have killed him (I certainly wanted to), had he not been rescued by the neighbor. When I tell the story, it brings back the dark feelings of how enraged I was at the time. So. Between the ages of 6 and 12, I was out of control. I couldn't control me.

I wasn't as bad in my teens, but there were many who still saw me go over the edge too many times, until I learned how to get the better of it. When I was in high school, I would very often get kicked out of the classroom (except for my Maths, Science and History classes) for being disruptive and sent to the Head Masters office and await punishment. I often just sat there for a while and then I would wander off and so the Head Master never got to talk to me. Since I was sitting next to his/her window, I know they knew I was there. I often got "six of the best" or the "cuts" (striking of a cane or leather strap across the hand or butt) on a regular basis, but it was part and parcel of who and how I was back then. I've been told by my friends (the ones I still have left from those days), that I would get this look in my eyes that was nothing short of pure evil and it used to really frighten them. It was like I had become someone else when I got "that look" in my eyes.

So. What happened? Well it was my parents who helped me sort it out, or at least it was they who started it. They pulled me over and told me that they wanted to talk to me (I was about 14 then) and they said that my behavior was unacceptable and if I couldn't get control of myself I would wind up in some very big trouble and that if that happened, they wouldn't be able to help me get out of it. It took me another 3 or 4 years to actually figure it out, but I got there.

The pleasure I get from knowing that I have helped someone out, is why I do it. It's that simply.

Mark