Bully pulpit

Looking back, I know why psychopaths like Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold decided to open fire on their school, Columbine High School. I know what it’s like to be bullied. I went through THAT hell before.

In fact, the aforementioned Columbine incident would’ve happened ten years earlier in Pointe-Claire if I’d had access to firearms. Thank the lord I didn’t.

Sure, those that bullied me are mostly now millionaires with wives and families and nice houses and sports cars and SUVs while I’m barely scraping by, living pathetically in my parent’s basement, alone and childless, struggling to get out of the mess that I’m stuck in. On second thought, maybe I should have killed those bullies when I had the chance. Oh wait, I never actually did.

It’s no fun being bullied, harassed and harangued constantly when one is in school. Teenage years were awkward enough without all that prattle.

But bullied I was, to the point where some of those bullies used to drive around my house in a minivan and if they saw me would hurl insults and rocks at me. In my mind, I overturned their van, killing them all. Now they are trying to be Facebook friends with me.

I admit, I can come across as somewhat creepy. Ugly, lonely idiots such as myself seem prone to that misjudgment, sometimes to the chagrin and delight of the society that puts us into that position should we act accordingly. No, society brushes us aside if we don’t look or act a certain way.

False accusations were, of course, spewed at me with much venomous hatred and only sometimes returned. These accusations were very often accompanied by the fists and feet of the bullies spewing them.

I was outnumbered and outclassed. I couldn’t win and so my resolve weakened. I let them get the better of me. The adults around me promised me a revenge so sweet…THE ADULTS WERE ALL DIRTY, ROTTEN LIARS!!!! After several years of searching in poverty and frustration, I’ve finally landed that entry level position in my field, earning almost (but not quite) HALF of what I deserve.

Is it any wonder that at the age of 32 I developed gout? It seems a wonder I’m not committed to some insane asylum somewhere, put on display and continually prodded by cruel tourists with “Poking sticks” purchased cheaply at the entrance.

Money was always tight, jobs were always scarce and fear was always present. But years of paying dues haven’t really gotten me anything better. Sure, I have a lot more friends now than I did then. College did that much for me.

I met some of the most important and valuable friends then (not all of them through school) and by the time I got to college, I had passed through the most awkward phases anyway. So had everyone else.

I know I must seem a bitter, old, miserable boor. I’m afraid I’m becoming just that.

One of those bullies who used to beat the crap out of me on my parents’ lawn is now a rich hot-shot California lawyer. He’d likely try to sue me for no good reason if he ever saw me again.

Another bully from that era, I heard through the grapevine, threatened to break my jaw if he ever saw me again and this was less than a year ago. If I saw either of them again, I probably wouldn’t even recognize them.

I forgave them years ago, but I will NEVER forget what they did to me. All I really learned from this is that life is never fair in my favour and restitution doesn’t exist. Karma is just shit from the Sacred Bull.

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