A friend sent me a video today.
It was gorgeous.
I trembled. And I cried.
And I remembered. I remembered all the stupid things, and I remember feeling pitiful over hurting at all. I still feel pitiful. It was never much. What I was, and what I went through, wasn't nearly as bad as what the people went through in the video. I don't even feel right saying "what I went through". It was more just . . .an experience.
I remember stupid name-calling, and I remember stupid friends. I remember each and every time I felt a bad thing at home. I know it was unknown to everyone else, especially at home. It still isn't known.
And To This Day I tell myself it was nothing and that I should feel nothing to run away because it's nothing and I should feel nothing and I genuinely believe this is true.
What I heard at school was nothing. I genuinely don't remember what it is.
What I was told at home should be nothing. I genuinely know I can change what's being said.
Yet I feel hurt.
I hurt.
Yet I know it's not so bad anymore. Not when I don't let it get to me--whatever "it" is, really. I know I'm hurt, but it's not that bad. I have a smug look, I have a smug smile, I look at myself and I don't just say, but I know that "Damn, I'm gorgeous!" I love myself. I can think that and mean it.
And that's more than can be said by others.
I went to shower afterwards, and I thought to myself of that cast wrapped around our hearts and the words written. And I knew they were wrong. I smiled. And I thought to myself "If my friends and I were all single, I'd be first to get a girlfriend--I'm perfect! In all my imperfections."
And then I cried. I curled myself up and I cried into that black hole I had newly resurfaced in my chest. And I told myself "Don't cry, don't cry don't cry . . . " And that the sun was ever tailor-made for me by a man or woman was just such an unattainable dream then. And that if someone was ever like the sun for me, then I knew I'd make them hurt. I thought "Johnny Cash", and the comprehension resurfaced. And now I feel better.
I genuinely do.
When I first saw the video, it was an emotion so strong I tried to suppress it. But I knew I could relate (even if I don't have the right to be such a baby). I re-watched it, open, to try and absorb it in--grasp at the idea of the video. And I felt myself gasping for breath. Until the tears rolled down my eyes.
And I smiled. And it was the most beautiful smile I've ever smiled, and I wished someone had a camera, and I said "I'm so alone."
I felt like Snow White.
And for just a second, I could see someone to sweet inside me. Someone I forgot I had. It felt like velvet. Like warmth.
And I felt light.
And I wondered, has there ever been a person on this green earth that hadn't been bullied? Some, glorious individual with all the great things in life? Someone that wasn't self-conscious about their makeup after being called pretty so many times and receiving no compliments when they had none on? Someone who hasn't had a lecture dumbed down because they were a jock and thus expected to be stupid. Some beautiful creature not called a bitch or a slut when being a prominent member of the cheer squad?
And what're we doing with these kinds of videos? Is it a vicious lineage on a food chain because everyone is called names and thus calls names to others until the poor suckers at the bottom have no one else to pick on? Are we catering to those persons? Will they ever forget what it was they went through and raise healthy strong children who in turn bully others?
What are we trying to do?
Who is it we are trying to teach?
We as a nation, and as a species, need a re-education on these type of things, because no one who has ever been hurt by this calls it "bullying", because bullying is such a small word. It's the idea of a stereotypical fat big guy in a black shirt and a mean scowl spitting on your face in a movie that ends okay. And even if we root for the underdog, and that's the point of the movie--to give hope to the real-life survivors--it still undermines everything that word implies and everything those implication do in reality. The scars never really do go away, and the mold and the grime and the hurt never really does fade forever. And the triggers are always there and the memories are always burned into the back of your eyelids, but you do learn to just turn away. Or so I've learned.
I don't think it's working too well.
But I know they were wrong.
I know they were wrong.
I know they were wrong about me,
And I know that I am going to do so much better than they could ever have hoped for. And if they ever become my boss, I am not just going to suck it up and hope they do not remember me. I won't sit there and look away and pretend not to care. I won't let it start up again.
But I know I won't have to. Because I remember them way more than they remember me. They don't remember me at all.
If fact, I'm willing to bet he'd find me pretty.
It was gorgeous.
I trembled. And I cried.
And I remembered. I remembered all the stupid things, and I remember feeling pitiful over hurting at all. I still feel pitiful. It was never much. What I was, and what I went through, wasn't nearly as bad as what the people went through in the video. I don't even feel right saying "what I went through". It was more just . . .an experience.
I remember stupid name-calling, and I remember stupid friends. I remember each and every time I felt a bad thing at home. I know it was unknown to everyone else, especially at home. It still isn't known.
And To This Day I tell myself it was nothing and that I should feel nothing to run away because it's nothing and I should feel nothing and I genuinely believe this is true.
What I heard at school was nothing. I genuinely don't remember what it is.
What I was told at home should be nothing. I genuinely know I can change what's being said.
Yet I feel hurt.
I hurt.
Yet I know it's not so bad anymore. Not when I don't let it get to me--whatever "it" is, really. I know I'm hurt, but it's not that bad. I have a smug look, I have a smug smile, I look at myself and I don't just say, but I know that "Damn, I'm gorgeous!" I love myself. I can think that and mean it.
And that's more than can be said by others.
I went to shower afterwards, and I thought to myself of that cast wrapped around our hearts and the words written. And I knew they were wrong. I smiled. And I thought to myself "If my friends and I were all single, I'd be first to get a girlfriend--I'm perfect! In all my imperfections."
And then I cried. I curled myself up and I cried into that black hole I had newly resurfaced in my chest. And I told myself "Don't cry, don't cry don't cry . . . " And that the sun was ever tailor-made for me by a man or woman was just such an unattainable dream then. And that if someone was ever like the sun for me, then I knew I'd make them hurt. I thought "Johnny Cash", and the comprehension resurfaced. And now I feel better.
I genuinely do.
When I first saw the video, it was an emotion so strong I tried to suppress it. But I knew I could relate (even if I don't have the right to be such a baby). I re-watched it, open, to try and absorb it in--grasp at the idea of the video. And I felt myself gasping for breath. Until the tears rolled down my eyes.
And I smiled. And it was the most beautiful smile I've ever smiled, and I wished someone had a camera, and I said "I'm so alone."
I felt like Snow White.
And for just a second, I could see someone to sweet inside me. Someone I forgot I had. It felt like velvet. Like warmth.
And I felt light.
And I wondered, has there ever been a person on this green earth that hadn't been bullied? Some, glorious individual with all the great things in life? Someone that wasn't self-conscious about their makeup after being called pretty so many times and receiving no compliments when they had none on? Someone who hasn't had a lecture dumbed down because they were a jock and thus expected to be stupid. Some beautiful creature not called a bitch or a slut when being a prominent member of the cheer squad?
And what're we doing with these kinds of videos? Is it a vicious lineage on a food chain because everyone is called names and thus calls names to others until the poor suckers at the bottom have no one else to pick on? Are we catering to those persons? Will they ever forget what it was they went through and raise healthy strong children who in turn bully others?
What are we trying to do?
Who is it we are trying to teach?
We as a nation, and as a species, need a re-education on these type of things, because no one who has ever been hurt by this calls it "bullying", because bullying is such a small word. It's the idea of a stereotypical fat big guy in a black shirt and a mean scowl spitting on your face in a movie that ends okay. And even if we root for the underdog, and that's the point of the movie--to give hope to the real-life survivors--it still undermines everything that word implies and everything those implication do in reality. The scars never really do go away, and the mold and the grime and the hurt never really does fade forever. And the triggers are always there and the memories are always burned into the back of your eyelids, but you do learn to just turn away. Or so I've learned.
I don't think it's working too well.
 |
| I want to live here one day. Breath free. |
But I know they were wrong.
I know they were wrong.
I know they were wrong about me,
And I know that I am going to do so much better than they could ever have hoped for. And if they ever become my boss, I am not just going to suck it up and hope they do not remember me. I won't sit there and look away and pretend not to care. I won't let it start up again.
But I know I won't have to. Because I remember them way more than they remember me. They don't remember me at all.
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