My life has been a series of hell. When I was 13 my father passed away, the very day you commented on my tattered shoes and laughed in my face with your hooligan friends. When I was 15 my mother married the very man that assaulted me, unaware of the fact that he was the reason I spoke so little. The very day you stole my bag and hid on the highest treetop. When I was 16, my only best friend turned against me and joined your gang. The very day you commented on the fact that everyone leaves me because of the bore I am. When I was 17, my mother was in debt. The very day you broke my glasses. When I was 18, I failed all my classes, the very day you called me useless and a waste of space. For the first time, I agreed with you.
I’m 35 now, writing from behind my office desk. Not a business tycoon just yet, but I’m working my ways to it. Since we parted, life seemed to have been brighter. It was like a dark cloud finally moved away from me. It was like a 10-year drought was finally quenched. It was like a storm finally calmed. Finally. I could wake up every day with the knowledge that I wouldn’t be bashed by your heartless words. I could walk down a corridor without searching for even a glimpse of you in case I’d have to walk the other way. I could finally start living, because every day with you was like dying in another painful, barbarous way. Did you know I had contemplated suicide at the age of 14? The very day you spread rumors about my dead father. I wanted to die. Run. Hide. Anything, to stay away from you. But of course, I had a mother to protect and a brother to live for.
The trauma of those few years played a huge role in my life. Till now, I get nightmares every now and then. They visit me in my misery. To remind me of the warrior I’ve become. Sometimes flashes of the times when I’d lock myself in a cubicle and tear up would creep up on me in the middle of an important meeting. Maybe I’d be cutting vegetables and the knife so very close to my fingers would remind me of the nights I was so very close to ending all the pain. Once i was even on a date with my beloved husband when I saw you with your children. Living just as happily as you always did. They looked just like you. You didn’t recognize me of course, or maybe you pretended not to. Either way, I was thankful for it. It was because of that day I’m writing this letter.
I guess this is the part where I am the bigger person and forgive you for your sins. The part where I thank you for teaching me how to fight. The “happy ending” kind of a thing, you know? But the truth is, I do not forgive you. I am not thankful for you. In fact, from the gravest pit of my heart, I hate you. However, I wanted to let you know that I am happy. Happy with my journey. Happy with my fight. Happy because I held on. So yes, thank you not for teaching me how to fight but for leaving me alone after high school. Thank you, for the day you pretended you didn’t recognize me. Thank you, for staying away from me. Dear bully, I wish you well and pray for your good health.
The girl with tattered shoes and broken glasses.