I'm 28 years old, now. I'm sitting here in the engine room of a NOAA research ship, as a licensed maritime officer making more than 60k a year. My life has come together. Everything is good. Everything is great.
And then I read the recent diary about Bully, and a nightmare mixture of rage and fear and sadness comes washing over me.
I can't watch the video, because our satellite connection doesn't have the bandwidth for YouTube.
I can't watch the video, because.. Because I can't watch. The wounds are too fresh.
It's been 14? 15? years, since my parents pulled me out of high school, and the nightmare ended.
A decade and a half.
The wounds are too fresh. I can't watch the video.
The great philosopher Calvin once said: "Years from now, when I'm successful and happy, ... and he's in prison... I hope I'm not too mature to gloat." It's been years. I'm successful and happy. But gloating? The wounds are too fresh. Besides, if the Republican Party is any indication, the worst of those bullies are probably now billionaire businessmen. After all, the worst were the Cool Kids, the ones who were social, and who knew how to climb the rungs by trampling the people beneath them.
I'm sorry. I'm bitter. I'm hurt. And it hurts that I still hurt - I should have grown beyond it by now. I'm still angry. Angry at my peers, whose names and faces I've long since forgotten. Angry at myself, for being too weak to fight, and for fighting and losing, and for fighting and winning. Angry at the world, for placing me in that position, with those people.
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