Dear Bully,

Proud, strong, independent young woman.

Victim.

These things don’t seem to belong together.

They almost seem oxymoronic.

But that’s because they are oxymoronic, and thanks to you, they are now the words I use to describe myself.

 

As a logical thinker, I have always known that fear is only temporary.

But that was before I learned just how much your glare can induce it.

Just how quickly a whisper can make my heart race.

Just how hard my tears can fall.

 

I always prided myself on being the type of person to work things out with words.

I was always willing to listen to you.

I always tried to see your point of view.

I told everyone how violence was unnecessary and crude.

But now, I wish I had learned how to defend myself.

Now I worry that if I lock eyes with you, the next thing I will see is the inside of a hospital room.

Because I prided myself on a peaceful attitude, and now all I feel is fear.

But it’s only temporary, right?

Wrong.

 

I tell myself that you only bully me because you are jealous.

I tell myself that you make these choices because I have a future when you are so unsure of your own.

I tell myself to keep my cool.

Because even when you continue to beat down on me with harsh word after word and everyone I thought was once my friend begins to see me as a sick puppy, I tell myself to keep my cool.

When I feel the anger build up, and I feel my fists ball, and I feel the tears begin to swell on the brinks of my eyelids, I tell myself to keep my cool.

Because revenge wouldn’t be worth risking my future.

But it would be so satisfying.

 

Now this is where my mind begins to go in circles.

I know that I can’t lower myself to your level.

I know that I need to remove myself from the situation before something drastic happens.

But I also know that if I do this, you will think you have won.

 

When I said that I am a strong, independent, young woman,

It is situations like this that cause me to challenge my thoughts about labeling myself as such.

“You need to stand up for yourself, show her that you are not going to be messed with.”

“You need to rise above, you can’t get in trouble, she isn’t worth it.”

“If you leave, she will think that she has made you change, that you have gone out of your way to avoid her, that she has power over you. You are not a sick puppy. YOU WILL NOT ROLL OVER AND ALLOW HER TO BITE AT YOU!”

These arguments swirl around in my brain like a glass of merlot at a wine tasting.

They are just as bitter, too.

 

It is a constant battle.

It’s as if I have a devil and an angel on opposite shoulders, except instead I have passion and reason arguing for my attention.

Two things I take the most pride in are tearing me apart.

My passion is the fire that fuels my creativity.

It is a hot, white flame, and it motivates me to take that leap when I am unsure of what will happen when I reach the bottom.

My reason acts as a rope.

It grounds me, and prevents me from allowing that passion to push me off of a cliff to certain death.

There is a healthy balance of both most of the time but right now my fire is so hot I feel the flames licking up at my ears and I feel my skin bubbling beneath it.

My rope is so short I can not escape.

So I scream, cry, and beg for help but none comes.

My feelings can only be equated to hell.

 

Every day I would go to school, and every night I would dread the next day.

I would think about what would happen if I were to take my life.

Would you finally regret your words?

Would you finally realize that your actions have consequences?

Would you finally learn your lesson?

Would my peers chastise you, or even hold you accountable?

Would you finally understand how I felt?

No, you wouldn’t.

And I wouldn’t want you to.

I wouldn’t want you to feel the way you make me feel.

I wouldn’t want anyone to.

 

So I guess I’ll just watch as you take every good thing I have in my life and poison it.

I guess I’ll just watch as you manipulate every person I ever called my friend into hating me.

I guess I’ll just watch as you and a group of people congregate outside of my classroom like a small mob so that you can make sure I hear everything you say about me.

I guess I’ll just watch as you bring up every mistake I’ve ever made so that everyone around us can judge me more.

I guess I’ll just watch as you push me further toward the edge.

I guess I’ll just watch as my rope begins to fray.

I guess you’ll just watch as I plunge into the darkness, as if you have crossed some kind of proverbial finish line.

But I only have five months left until I graduate.

And I can make it that long.

I refuse to give you the satisfaction.

 

And then you will have to watch as I cross that stage.

You will have to watch while I accept my diploma with golden honors cords hanging from my neck.

You will have to watch as I start college, find new friends, and discover new interests.

You will have to watch as I earn my MD, travel the world, and spread positivity and light.

Because while you focused on making me miserable, I focused on proving you wrong.

I refuse to be miserable.

And no matter what you say about me, you will never be able to take what I have earned away from me.

 

So I will see you at the reunion in 10 years.

Maybe you will be the same awful, hateful person you are now.

Or maybe you will have realized your faults, and changed for the better.

I really hope so.

I really hope that you can learn to forgive yourself, just as I have forgiven you.

Because I do.

I forgive you.