I never understood why people do some of the things they do. I was always a quiet kid. Sometimes I was picked on, other times I wasn’t, but for the most part I was always in the background. I was good at seeing things happen without being a part of them, even if I wanted to be. Why? I was shy. I still am, to an extent, but nothing like how I used to be. And I always wondered after I saw someone get bullied, or was myself being picked on: Why? And as I grew older, answers came, but they were never simple ones. In the end I’ve come to realize that sometimes, there is no rhyme or reason for what people do. It’s idealistic to think that everyone who hurts others is doing it to relieve some hurt within themselves, or don’t realize what they’re doing. Sure, that’s the answer in some cases. But not all. Some people just hurt others for the sake of doing it. Some because they get a sick pleasure out of it. Others still just like the feeling of power. It was easy to get away from this when it was in school. At least then I could go home into the company of my friends and family. But now the bully IS in my home. How I’ve usually dealt with these people is patience: don’t engage them. Just keep back and wait for them to tire themselves out, or get their kicks and move on. This worked well with the more indirect snubs and actions, but I could never deal with hostility when it was thrown right in my face. I don’t think I ever learned how to deal with it. I’d cry and avert my eyes and wait for it to be over. This never solved the problem, but it would always eventually move away from me. In school at least. But not when it’s now in my home. I’m a pacifist. I don’t enjoy conflict. I like to assume that people don’t mean the nasty looks or actions. It was an accident, I’d tell myself. They’re having a bad day. It’s not their fault. But I can’t be delusional anymore. Not when, while I’m standing in the kitchen doing my dishes and minding my own business, someone walks in and turns the lights out on me. Not when all manner of insults are thrown my way, but the minute I go to say something back I’m cut off and accused of being a horrible, hateful person. Not when I’m woken up at all hours of the day because of a lack of respect for my schedule, but I can’t even use the blender at 1 PM without getting an angry glare and a door slammed in my face. Not when I can’t even use an entire shelf in my own fridge because it’s been claimed for one person, and I can’t even put a container of green beans down there without hearing a snide comment. Not when I’m given the silent treatment for weeks at a time without any rhyme or reason. Not when I can hear myself being talked about to a stranger on the phone right outside my own bedroom door. No. I can’t even pretend anymore. At first I thought that it really might be my own fault. Had I done or said any of those horrible things I was being accused of? Where did I go wrong? How could I fix it? But I came to learn something as time passed. I have many flaws, but none of what I was accused of possessing. I couldn’t blame myself for the treatment I was receiving. I couldn’t, and CAN’T let a bully define who I am as a person, or affect the self-esteem I have worked so hard to build for myself ever since I was that quiet girl in the corner in elementary school. I know who I am, and refuse to be intimidated by those who are so insecure with who they are that they have to lash out to have some sense of self. This is for you guys, the ones who have kept me sane; who have listened to my rants and trusted me with yours; who have reassured me that who I am is good enough when I doubted it myself; who have lent your support, your time, your smiles, your love. I wouldn’t be who I am today without meeting so many truly wonderful people along the way. Thank you.
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