One of the bloggers in my Facebook newsfeed posted a story of how she was bullied in school and encouraged others to post their stories. I think it’s very brave of her to do this, but honestly I can’t really read the stories because they just KILL me.
I was very shy and quiet when I was younger, which apparently came across to some people as me being a super snob. Because of this and who knows what else, I was bullied in middle school. One girl in particular was just horrible to me and one of her little tricks still lives in my head all these years later. I was also really close friends with a boy who was bullied for being gay. This was before he came out, of course, but classmates still latched on to his differentness and made him miserable. I won’t lie and say that I’ve forgiven everyone involved bullying us and other friends. Unfortunately, that is something that I still carry around with me.
A piece of me wishes nothing but pain and unhappiness (and ugliness and fatness…) on those people who made us miserable. A much bigger part of me hopes that they’ve learned from their mistakes. If I have to carry the memories around in my head, it is only fair that they get to carry around their guilt.
Over the years, I’ve grown confidence and a thicker skin. After being hazed at my last job, you kind of have to figure out a way to deflect the mean in the world.
I am a quiet girl no more.
Now, I don’t put up with much. And I pity the fool who messes with me or my loved ones.