I had a dream last nite where I told off one of the classmates who made my life a living hell in high school. It wasn’t the ringleader, but it was one of the jackasses that joined in. It felt good to tell him off. I think I even made him cry a little (his eyes were really red by the time I was done).
I woke up this morning wishing I could do that in real life. I believe there are some of them who live in the same town as I do, but we never cross paths (which is probably a good thing). So I will most likely never have that opportunity.
But I still wish they knew how their juvenile actions back then still affect me to this day … and I graduated high school in 1994!
I remember getting picked on in the 2nd grade. My teacher, Ms. Schmidt, told me that “boys only tease girls they like”. If that were true, then I was the most popular girl that town had ever seen. They started the real bullying around 5th or 6th grade and some were still at it the day we graduated high school.
Since I will never get the chance to tell them off face to face, I thought I would write them a letter. I know that they’ll probably never even run across this blog, but there are things that I need to say, whether they see them or not.
If anyone reading this happens to know Kelly Visto, Joe Dobos, Zach Fluto, Matt Swanson, or anyone who went to school with them (older or younger), pass this link on to them. Oh yeah … I went there. I named names.
Dear Bullies …
I could call you jackasses or assholes or any number of other terms that I’ve thought of over the years, but when it comes right down to it … you’re bullies. You made my life a living hell throughout school. The things you said and did still haunt me to this day.
And you know what is really ironic … the trigger that started everything wasn’t even what you thought it was. You all thought that I shit my pants. Well guess what … that isn’t what happened. What really happened? I became a woman that day. And if you don’t know what I mean by that, then you’re even more stupid than I thought you were in high school. So that fun little song you made up back then was all for nothing. Then again, I’m sure you would have made up a different song for the situation and bullied me with that.
I got pretty damn good at ignoring you. But even though I was able to ignore your antics, it still affected me. I bottled up my feelings. I kept to myself. I stayed home. I never did anything that normal high school girls did. I did have some friends, but I never did anything with them outside of school. And that was all because of you … how you made me feel about myself … how you treated me.
Some of you eventually gave up the bullying. But others kept right on going until the day we graduated. I’m sure that at least one of you would have continued bullying me if you had the chance (and you know who you are).
Joe – I ran into you a few times when I first started going to Pistol Pete’s Saloon. We even spoke. You seemed surprised when I acted like such a bitch to you. I remember you saying something like “that was a long time ago”. Well, you know what? TIME DOESN’T HEAL ALL WOUNDS!!!
We graduated 17 years ago. That’s a long time. I’m sure you’ve completely forgotten about the things you said way back then. But I haven’t. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t.
You might have thought that they were only words. But words can hurt as much as punches … sometimes more.
Bruises heal. The marks go away. But the wounds from your words … they’re still raw and bleeding … even after 17 years.
Do you even realize that the things that you said way back then have shaped my life … and not in a good way. Does that make you proud? Does that make you feel like big strong men?
I don’t have a lot of friends, but the ones I have … I cherish them. It’s hard for me to make new friends. My social ineptitude can be traced back to you. You broke me down. You made me keep to myself. And because of that, I never learned how to be social.
You better hope that we never turn up at the same bar, because if I’ve got a few drinks in me, I might just tell you how I feel. And I can’t be sure that I’d stop with words. I’ve got a LOT of pent up emotions. I’d hate to be the person who uncorks that bottle.
The girl you broke
Wow. That was harder to write than I thought it would be. Do you realize how hard it is to type through tears? I started this post this morning, before work. But I had to stop or else I would have been a blabbering mess all day at work.
As I re-read this tonite and finish it, I’m tempted to not hit the publish button. Maybe the act of writing this was enough therapy for me. But no. Why should I stay silent? Haven’t I been silent long enough?