Day 4: Bully
We all have a little bully in us.
I first met my inner bully in elementary school. I was probably five or six years old. There was another kid in my class who, for no single reason I can put my finger on, just deeply irritated me.
He was a little bit chubby. He had long blonde hair. A big gap between his two front teeth. He didn’t play sports. He played the cello.
I found him almost girlish.
We had mutual friends, so we hung out more than you’d expect. But inevitably I would start picking on him.
I wish I remembered exactly what I would do (maybe I’ve blocked it out). But I do remember him always getting really upset and complaining to one of our moms about how I was treating him.
I don’t know what it was exactly. I want to say “he was an easy target.” But it’s so cliché.
He was though. It’s like I got some kind of weird pleasure out of upsetting him. I liked getting a reaction out of him.
Some kids like making people laugh. At least in this case, that wasn’t me. I liked making this kid cry.
After hanging out with him I used to complain to my mom, “He’s so weird!” She’d always reply the same way. “He’s not weird, he’s just different.”
I hated that. I always thought she was being too nice.
Ironically, this kid ended up dropping out of school a few years later to homeschool. And from what I’ve heard, he’s really thrived.
He lost his baby weight and started running marathons. He dived deeper into cello and really mastered it. He started a band and spent a few years touring across the country.
As I’ve heard about his life since leaving school, I have to admit I’ve always envied him. And I think in large part that’s because he really seems to have become fully and unapologetically himself. Something I continue to struggle with.
I get angry thinking about that sometimes. It’s a combination of things. I resent him for coming into his own and living a really interesting, creative life. And I feel guilty and ashamed of not quite having done that myself.
But when I take a step back, I realize what he represents.
All of the characters in this little drama are all different pieces of who I am on the inside.
I am the unusually sensitive, easily hurt, “easy target.”
I am also the bully — poking and prodding and at my own insecurities and getting some kind of sadistic pleasure out of triggering my own pain.
And lastly I am the one envying the life I imagine I could live — if I only gave my sensitive side a break and let that part of me shine.
We all have a little bully in us. What would happen if he was just a little less mean?