This morning I awoke from a very strange dream. As I cleared the sleep from my eyes and my foggy brain began to focus I could sense the dream slipping away, going to the land of forgotten dreams like they all tend to do. I reached for it trying to recall its plot line. I winced as I realized I had been back in high school in my dream!
Don’t get me wrong. High school was a pretty fun time. I don’t have all bad memories. I enjoyed cheerleading, chorus, English class, and even met some true friends along the way. But unlike a lot of people I know I would not wish to turn back the hands of time and relive that portion of my life. Not at all.
I’ve blogged before about mean girls and eluded to the fact that school wasn’t a walk in the park for me. I didn’t know who I was and spent most of the time blindly maneuvering through the mine field that is high school hierarchy. I have so many memories from that era, some really good, and some pretty bad. Despite my attempts to prevent such thoughts my memories of adolescence where school is concerned are often overshadowed by my experiences with a bully.
We all see the stories of young girls committing suicide over bullying lately, and I think for most this is an area where you roll your eyes. Bullying has always been around. Remember the after school special about the suicide pact between the unlikely pair of misfits? Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Either way bullying goes way back. I think it’s just taken on a new face, a heightened humiliation, with the addition of technology and social networking.
I think if you’ve had the privilege of never experiencing the torture of bullying or being an outcast then you are unfamiliar with its sting, its ability to cut to the core of self-esteem and happiness, especially in a young person still trying to build their independent idea of self-worth.
I believe I’ve gotten over the hurt and humiliation of my bullying experience, for the most part. But like a lot of people I often wish there were things I had been given the opportunity and courage to speak to my abuser.
So what would I say? I guess it would sound something like this:
Hello Bully,
So many times you hear things like, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” It’s a long-held and widespread belief that when you go through something trying and difficult that you can use it to build your character and make you a stronger person.
Well, sometimes that’s just a bunch of crap!
I can’t for the life of me try and put a positive spin on the abuse, physical, mental, and emotional, that I suffered at your hands. I refuse to say that your treatment of me made me a stronger person. I will not allow you to feel better about our situation at all by covering it up with flowery quotes and putting a little bow of lessons learned on top.
No. I won’t do that to you or me. I know you’re smart, perhaps even smarter than myself, which you know I hate to admit. That being said, I will not insult your intelligence by misleading you in any way by sugar-coating the ramifications of your actions.
I didn’t learn to be stronger because of you! I eventually learned to be stronger despite you. Any strength I gained came from finally seeing myself through Christ’s eyes, not because of any attempts to make myself feel better after your insults and taunting.
Some people say if they had the opportunity to go back in time that they wouldn’t change a thing. They say proudly that they became the person they are because of their past. Therefore they wouldn’t change a single thing.
I think that’s noble and great. I really do. I even agree, for the most part. But I can’t fully get on the bus with that idea. Why? Because of you.
If I could erase all interaction with you from my past I would do it in a heartbeat. Seven days a week and twice on Sunday. You impacted me negatively that much.
For the longest time I didn’t want to admit that. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to hold that power over me. But the longer I thought about it, the more I thought you needed to know, the more I wanted everyone to know.
Every young girl out there suffering, I wanted them to know they weren’t alone. I wanted them to realize that while it was bad, it wouldn’t always be that way. Promise.
When people say this isn’t that bad. You’re going to be stronger after this is over, they’re not helping. Not really.
It is bad. To a young person trying to find themselves, it’s the end of the world. And time is different when you’re a teenager. It takes forever!
And that’s what you were to me, the end of my little world as I knew it. I couldn’t see the end of it. I couldn’t see the bright side. I only saw pain and humiliation.
You hurt me, and I think it’s only fair that you know. Things weren’t really that great for me to begin with at the time, and I’ll be honest. You almost broke me. I think for a short while I was sure you had. If it weren’t for my mom and the one friend who stuck it out with me, I might have thrown in the towel. For real.
I know now that God was with me through it all, but I didn’t really know Him then, so I was unable to experience the comfort and healing He could provide. Despite Him, my friend, even my parents, I felt certain I was all alone.
You did that. You made me feel all alone. Ostracized, outcast, like a plague. For a teenager, that’s hell.
While I want you to know how you hurt me, and while I hope you will somehow raise your daughters a different way, I’m under no illusion that my words will change you or how you raise them, or even how you interact with the adult women around you. Are you still a bully? Perhaps.
While I want you to know the implications of your actions, I also want to tell you something else.
I forgive you.
It was a long time coming. Believe me, it did not happen overnight. God softened my heart towards you. But while I have forgiven your indecency towards me, I will admit to my human finiteness of mind. I can not forget.
I suppose I will never forget your treatment of me. And that’s what I really wanted you to know. You created a scar in my past memories, one that God has healed of the hurt, but a crevice that remains there regardless.
How does this still affect me? Well, I worry for my daughters I suppose. I know I will try, and I would lay down my life doing it, but I will be unable to shield them completely from people like yourself, the new generation of bullies.
I can only pray for them, teach them daily of who they are in Christ, and hope that this realization will somehow soften the blows of mean girls like yourself.
I’ll teach them to love you, to love those that trespass against them. I won’t lie and tell them that is easy, or that they’ll escape the fire unscathed. No. I will hold them, wipe the tears you and your kind cause, and pray that the hurt will indeed pass with time.
It has for me. Mostly. But some days, maybe even as I’m unaware, the memory of your hurt will bombard me, maybe even as an unwelcome dream, it will jump up and remind me of what we shared.
Although your actions still cause me pause to this day, they do not define me. You didn’t teach me a thing. As I said before, I’m not stronger because of you. I’m stronger despite you.
I’ve forgiven you, but I cannot seem to forget. I hope that doesn’t cause you pleasure in some sick way. I hope it fosters repentance and change in your heart. I hope you have changed, or are changing as we speak.
One can never understand the deep ripples caused by the stone they threw. Maybe now you can.
Best Wishes,
A Former Victim.