Honestly, I was not sure I would ever post this poem on Social. It is a very personal poem; raw and emotional. So putting it in a book was hard enough for me to grasp, let alone on social media. No one wants to admit they were once the target of bullying. So why now? Well school has started recently, so I thought maybe someone might benefit. Someone who is nervous to walk down the hall because they might be shamed or pointed at. Someone who wants to fake a stomach ache each day to get out of going to class. Someone who needs to be reminded that it is not them who should be embarrassed for their behavior.
But this is more than a story about being bullied. This story has an interesting twist, in which fate turned on the bully in a horrible way. This is something I never would have wished on my worst enemy (and this person may have fit the bill back then). I think the lesson in this story, and maybe why I chose to tell it now, is because even at the young age of 16, I understood the concept of being sympathetic to someone who was once horrible to me. I realized that just because I was wronged, doesn’t mean I felt that the universe did right by me, or was on my side, or that this was some type of “payback”.
I’m not patting myself on the back for being the bigger person, and even though the thought of karma may have played through my head for a few moments, I knew this was not karma at work. I remember literally feeling sick when I heard the news about what happened in the bully’s family, and I knew that when I saw him in the hallway a few weeks later, and we locked eyes, I was not going to be ridiculed by him anymore. He no longer had that fight in him. So I found the courage to tell him that I was sorry about what had happened in his life. Did it help him? I’m not sure. But maybe it helped me to find some strength and inner peace by reaching out to someone who had once hurt me and was now hurting. I think these are the moments that build our character.
That being said, I did not deserve to be targeted. No one does. This hurt beyond measure when it was happening, and often left me confused and withdrawn. I was just going about my day when someone decided to label me. How do we respond to that label we are given by others, and how does that shape and shift our life? Truth be told, my bullying experience wasn’t even really bullying. It was more name calling. I know there are people who are bullied to a much greater extent, including physical harm. But nonetheless, name calling isn’t minor either, especially when it comes at a time when we are learning who we are, and trying to build self confidence. Someone’s hurtful words erode that self confidence, and make us question everything about ourselves. This can impact how we present ourselves to the world. Are we confident with what we say and how we act, or do we hide shyly in a corner and hope to not be noticed? It is true that we are responsible for how we react to someone’s actions. But at a young age it is hard to keep that concept in mind.
When I was reliving the story, of course the hurt was still there, but it had lessened, and was not nearly as raw. Memories are fluid and they change over time. Things that once hurt to the core may have softened, and memories that were good at the time may bring heartbreak or anger years later. I guess this is called perspective. But the fact that I still carry this memory around thirty plus years later tells me that how people treat you, and how you treat people matters. It did then and it does today. You never know how your words or even how you look at someone will impact their life, and how long they will carry it around with them.
Not every bullying story is going to have such a devastating ending or even come to any closure at all. Sometimes the conclusion is that the bully gets bored and moves onto a new victim, or the school year comes to an end. In any case, I hope anyone who is bullied, or witnesses someone else being bullied, can find the courage and confidence to stand up for themselves or others, and let the bully know they are not going to take it. That is a feeling of empowerment they will take with them long after the bully is out of their life.
The Bully
Throughout my youth and teenage years
I lived in the same town.
I had my small core group of friends;
I’d see other kids around.
Everyone seemed to get along
As well as most kids do.
If there were bullies lurking around the school,
I guess I never knew.
Then one day in my junior year
A new kid came to school.
He took up with the popular kids
And thought he was so cool.
One day in the classroom
He turned around to see
Me sitting in the back of class;
“The Beast” he nicknamed me.
From that day on, when we would pass
In the hallway or the yard,
“There goes the Beast,” he’d loudly say.
It started to hit hard.
I’d hang my head when he approached
So he wouldn’t notice me.
I prayed each night that when tomorrow came
He would just let me be.
I started to avoid the hall.
I’d rather be late for class
And go the long way around the school
Just to avoid this ass.
He’d poke his friends when I’d walk by;
“There goes the Beast,” he’d say.
I’d pretend I had not heard him
As his friends all looked my way.
Then one night toward the end of May
A tragedy hit our town.
Two girls were killed in a deadly crash;
Our school turned upside down.
In the hallway students clung
In disbelief as they cried.
I’m sorry to say, the sister of the bully
Was one who died.
When the bully finally returned to school
He was a different guy.
Gone was the smirk across his face;
He shrunk when he walked by.
As he approached he no longer had
That confident, cocky swagger.
Instead he looked so very lost,
His footsteps would stumble and stagger.
Then one day in the hallway
Our gazes met at last.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whispered
Quietly as I passed.
He nodded to me, a silent thanks,
No further words were spoken.
The pain he felt was palpable;
He really seemed quite broken.
From that day on, no longer did
He set his sights on me.
“The Beast” nickname he penned me
Was no longer meant to be.
Now looking back years later,
I wonder what I did
To have been given such a hateful name
From this troubled, insecure kid.
I know I did not deserve his scorn
But then, to be fair
He didn’t deserve the loss he got,
And I know I can’t compare.
But one hurt doesn’t erase the other.
You can’t undo the pain.
Although obtained in different ways,
The scars, they still remain.
