I didn’t rat on my so-called friends — that would have only provoked them to ostracize me more. They had been bullying me for the past two years, making fun of me for carrying my books at my hip, like a boy, instead of across my chest, like a girl, for raising my hand too often in class, for scoring too high on our exams, for wearing my jeans too short, with white socks and loafers instead of dark socks and shit-kickers. They invented an entire secret language to mock my phoniness (well, maybe I was a phony, twisting m…
Proud to say, I was never a bully. I would never intentionally want to hurt the feelings of another person because it is cruel. However, don’t confuse this for weakness. As a self-actualized adult, I will justifiably defend myself; verbally eviscerate you and wither you down with a look. I will happily cut toxic jerks from my life in an instant because you, dear bully-loser, are not worth my time.
I WAS bullied mercilessly throughout most of my childhood because my family was poor, I’d grown up in an abusive household, I was shy/quiet/introverted, didn’t have a lot of clothing (ill-fitting, ugly), I had red-hair, developed before everyone else, and was pale. I have always been curvy. Unfortunately, I grew up when it was fashionable to be a skinny, flat-chested tan blonde wearing foundation two shades too dark. My thighs were like tree trunks compared to those pretty little twiglets even though I really wasn’t overweight, just developing curves. I had to wear glasses, and because of my background, I had yet to go to a dentist for badly needed braces, let alone for a single cleaning. So my smile, which I rarely brandished, was yellowed and crooked.
One girl dared to tell me one day that people thought I was stuck up because I kept to myself. Wow! Really? Stuck up? How is a fat, ugly, impoverished girl who is abused every single day (both at school and home) stuck up? I was just trying to survive each day without being bothered or noticed. No one was nice to me. They all had ulterior motives when they were, so I tend not to trust people anymore.
So you can tell me all you like that kids are just “kidding” or “they don’t know any better” when they do mean and thoughtless things to hurt another peer, but I’m living proof that kids, like the adults they grow up to be, can be assholes. They know they are mean. Why else would they taunt? And sometimes those pricks deserve it when the kid they’ve been abusing up and punches them in the face for being (gasp) an asshole. Looking back, I wish now I had slapped or punched a few of the mean-girls (especially) in their smug little heavily made-up faces. Perhaps then, they would have reconsidered bullying the next poor soul who just wanted to be left alone and go about their day being themselves without being accosted for being “different.” I’m sure others would chastise me for advocating a child getting hit by another, but when you’ve come from the other side of the abuse spectrum, I get it. Sometimes bullies need to get a taste of what they’ve been dishing out. It is called karma. It is called learning a hard lesson.