-
Posts
Archives
-
CNN News
Entertainment
Why are American kids dying?
Posted in LGBT, Video
Leave a comment
The Wall Of Shame
These are some of the faces of my Junior High School tormentors. Many of them bullied me as early as the 6th grade and continued to bully me through high school. My only reprieve came after my family moved away from Maryland and away from the bullies.
Sadly, most of these kids probably have no memory of me or their hateful behavior, yet I have suffered a lifetime of insecurity, fear, anger, worry and confusion as a result. As I look at their faces, I can see and hear them verbally attacking me, calling me a fag, laughing at me, mocking me. . . all in the name of their own selfish ego.
Tim Kuchta was one of the worst offenders, often times, turning violent. I was hit, pushed, knocked down and even spit on. Usually the confrontations would occur in front of others, designed to humiliate and degrade me. Rarely did any of the spectators come to my defense. . . they just watched and sometimes joined in, while others simply walked away.
I would have done anything to avoid them. . . unfortunately, there was never an escape.
Posted in Uncategorized
10 Comments
Do they ever feel remorse?
I sometimes wonder what happened to the bullies when they got older. Do they ever feel remorse? Did they just grow up to be nasty adults? Are they working each day to undo the horrific damage they inflicted? I am one of their victims too, and I try my best to block what all happened and be a loving, kind person. I think I am a loving, kind person, but that pain that began all those years ago turned into real psychological disease that has to be treated every day of my life, and there are times I feel really black-hearted toward those bullies. I wish just one of them would speak up to say how what they did torments them each day, and night, and that they are so sorry. I’ve never seen anything like that though.
The only thing to do now is to keep living the way we are, doing the things that mean something–anything–to the world, and to ourselves. And to remember through art and deeds those who didn’t survive. I am shaking right now thinking of the young people these past twenty or so years who died from cruel, monstrous bullying. I call it murder.
I was a hyper-vigilant mother to our son. He survived me though, and he kept a watchful eye on the kids at school. He told me about breaking up a “swirly” event he walked in on in the bathroom. I wasn’t there of course, but I knew how threatening he could look when he was angry. We were proud of him then, and stayed proud. He became a musician and is doing very well. He still keeps a watchful eye.
I keep a watchful eye too. I do what I can when I see bullying. I never thought of myself as having a mission, but sitting here writing this, feeling the feelings and crying, re-living those awful times, thinking of the time last summer when I yelled in the face of that little boy who had been yelling and hitting another boy with a skate board, I see I do have a mission.
I have a great life in spite of everything that happened and I am grateful to have love. But underneath I still deal with feelings of not deserving it, not being good enough. I go through times of agoraphobia and bad anxiety. I love it when those feelings and symptoms aren’t present. On those days and nights I live fully and deeply and am happy.
