The whole topic of bullying and the repercussions it’s had on my life is something I had been thinking of posting about for quite some time now, but kept putting off, precisely because I knew it wouldn’t be a quick walk in the park to get through this time. Not at this point in my life. Not after the long months of depression I’m still struggling to extricate myself from. After my first post, I hadn’t intended on posting on the subject again, but with all the responses I got, with everybody telling a little piece of their tale, and then after reading the comment section over at David’s too, and after what I intended to be a short comment over there turned into another saga, I felt I wasn’t done with the topic.
I have to say that David Rochester’s original post opened up quite the can of worms for me and for some of my readers as well. Mine happens to be one of those giant industry size cans and it contains some mighty scary looking worms, bigger than I ever thought possible. Maybe they’re here to avenge their brothers and sisters whom I so sadistically enjoyed cutting up into tiny little pieces as a five-year-old?
I really bothers me when people say “But you turned out fine, you have a great life, you’re talented, you’re a good person, you’re beautiful, you have a great career…” but how do they know what I feel like inside? How can they imagine what it’s like to have my mind, my memories? There have been so many repercussions throughout my life, one bad decision impacting the next impacting the next, all because I got scared of the big girl with the braces who did cocaine in the cafeteria and had decided that her and her little posse would give me a little scare, just for the heck of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been to hell and miraculously made my way back. I’m grateful for that, but I can certainly empathize with PTSD sufferers.
God, to have a switch so I could change all the events that followed after that. Hundreds of times… thousands of times I’ve tried to imagine how my life would have turned out if I hadn’t veered so wildly off the track in response to the taunting I was put through as a kid. And then just yesterday I found out from my mom that I had never told her about the bullying before. For the first time after reading my post she understood why I had suddenly morphed from a sweet gentle soul into a kid with an attitude and a giant chip on her shoulder. She would have tried to find some kind of workable solution to deal with the bullies she tells me now. Knowing the person she is, I know she would have gone the extra mile too. To think all of it could have been avoided if I’d just spoken up. It’s all so tragic.
I saw that one of David Rochester’s commentators was very persistent about wanting him to start up a mentoring program for kids who are victims of bullies, and I could all too well understand David’s response. I wouldn’t know what to tell kids other than “don’t do what I did or you’ll regret it all your life”. I feel like an essential piece was taken away from me which can never be replaced. Who am I to be giving life lessons to anyone? Mentoring would work if I had turned out to be a happy, balanced and successful adult, but at the moment I certainly don’t feel like that’s the case. Besides, who has energy to be helping others when you yourself haven’t found your way back from the wreckage yet?
It’s high time I bring all this up in therapy. In the meantime I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated everyone’s comments. It’s good to come out of all that isolation and find some consolation.