Recently, a friend and I were talking about our childhoods and how many of our childhood experiences shape the way we become the complex adults we become. How we are triggered by seemingly innocuous events and find ourselves reacting to situations in unexpected and often irrational ways. He told me that he had been bullied in high school and that he would never fully recover from the trauma of that time. Although he has “learned to deal with it” and “found a way to move on,” he is still affected by it every day and said he will never forgive the people who “ripped my life to shreds.” .
His words and the pain on his face shocked me. They reminded me of my own childhood, especially when I was a bullied preteen. I have spent the better part of 40 years “forgetting” about those days: the people I hurt, the damage I did, and the trauma I caused. Everything came flooding back. I thought. Am I a fucking monster?
I didn’t start out as a bully. It was a choice. I was a good girl. He was smart, funny, and full of life. That all changed when I was 11 years old, halfway through sixth grade.
I remember that moment clearly. It happened when I was wrestling with one of my classmates during recess. He was one of the boys in my school who was growing up faster than the other boys, including me. He was tall and ripped. He originally had a dirty mustache and a voice as deep as Darth Vader. He stood me on the ground and straddled my chest. My arms were pinned above my head. we were laughing. he smiled at me. I got an erection.
It was the first time I experienced pure panic. I froze. Time stood still as I felt him turn against me and recognition spread across his face. I heard the words “shithole” and “faggot” and saw his smile fade. I threw him away from me and ran away. A thought struck me. My life is over.
From an early age, I knew I was different from other boys, but I didn’t know I was gay. I knew very well what it meant to be gay. It’s hard to grow up in a small town full of masculinity and testosterone and not know what it means to be gay. I also knew what a “fag” was, what a “queer” was, what an “ass pirate” was, and all the other colorful terms.
I knew I could never be any of these. I believed being gay was wrong. It’s probably the worst thing that could happen to that person. I knew that if I did, I would be ostracized, bullied mercilessly, and beaten to death. I also knew it could kill you.
My decision to not be gay began that day. The transformation from a feisty preteen to a grumpy, angry bastard happened virtually overnight. When the fear of being discovered began to consume my every waking moment, I set out to erase the old me and create a new one. I lived in a kill-or-be-killed world, where the strong catered to the weak, and where being different was targeted. It was a world where only the strong survived, and the choice was between being a predator or being a prey.
I knew people who had fallen prey. I thought they were different and weak. I saw what a living hell their lives were. I witnessed the endless torture they endure at the hands of the popular kids – name calling and constant mental and physical abuse, and how it affected them. This was no life for me.
In just a few months, I went from being a bright and enthusiastic student to an indifferent and disruptive presence in the classroom. My grades have plummeted. I became brash and belligerent towards my peers, ditched old friends for a new, tougher group, and found a girlfriend. I did everything I could to take the attention away from myself and onto others. That’s how the bullying began.
I wasn’t big or strong for my age, so threats of force weren’t an option for me. I found a friend for that. What I had was a quick wit and an uncanny ability to find weaknesses and exploit them. I became a spiritual assassin. It was easier for the more visible unfortunate souls, like the girl with the dark red birthmark on her face or the chubby boy with Coke bottle glasses. For others, I learned everything I could about them and attacked when the opportunity presented itself.
My most evil actions were committed against Mike, the boy I was wrestling with when it all started. I don’t understand why he didn’t tell anyone what happened. I still wonder why he didn’t expose me when given such a golden opportunity. Perhaps he was a polite and considerate human being? Perhaps he was one of the good guys? Anyway, he didn’t attack, so I did. I flipped the script and told everyone that the erection was his and that he had tried to “stick it in me.” From then on, his nickname became “The Ass Bandit” and his life was hell.
This is how I survived the remaining two years of my junior high school career. They struck first, took advantage of their shortcomings and flaws, and ruined their lives. It was very easy. The other kids at school were happy to join in the game because they had things they wanted to hide just like I did. Except it wasn’t a game. People were hurt and traumatized.
I don’t remember feeling bad about the suffering I caused. Controlled by the fear that my secrets would be exposed, I waged an exhaustive campaign against anyone who felt threatened by me, and the results were abhorrent. I didn’t believe I had a choice. I thought it was a matter of life and death.
Once I entered high school, I had to adapt and use new survival methods. I ended up going to school on the other side of town, far away from my friends. There I suddenly became a very small fish in a big pond and no one was afraid of me. Alone and vulnerable, I learned to blend in, to camouflage and disguise myself, to keep my head down and shut up. Being invisible was easy and took much less effort than being a bully. I focused on the class and trying to avoid Chris, one of my classmates.
Chris Jones was the only “out” gay person in my school and the only person I was afraid of. His boldness was overwhelming. How does he have the strength to be who he is, to live his life as he is, to act openly and fearlessly? I would lie awake at night stressing about how easily he could destroy my life. One look, just a moment of recognition, and everything falls apart. He knows I’m gay, he knows I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he’ll expose me as a fraud. It was equal parts terrifying and fascinating. I was so desperate to be seen by him, or by anyone else, that the fear it evoked was paralyzing. Looking back, what I really wanted was to not feel completely alone.
Source: BuzzFeed – LGBTQ – www.buzzfeed.com
