Bullied

Luke 23:34, “But Jesus was saying, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing…’”

Two nights in the past week I have woken in the middle of the night to bad dreams. One was about a judgmental church condemning me for tapping my foot during the sermon, and last night, or early this morning the nightmare was a too bizarre to really describe. Both really enraged me, and the one this morning woke me at 5:00am, and I could not go back to sleep.

For some reason my mind began to go back through all the people who bullied me in my life. Most who know me, know I was sexually abused very early, but very few know about all the others that in one way or another tormented me on a regular basis.

As a child I was a year ahead in school. Not because I was so smart, but probably more because I’m a November baby. The result was that mentally I was very capable, but physically I always seemed to be a little smaller than my classmates. Perhaps it was this smaller stature coupled with my confidence and wit that led the older boys to single me out for bullying. Maybe I didn’t respond properly and so it continued. 

Whatever the reason I have some very vivid memories of Mike, Kevin, and Ed being very, very ugly to me on the bus rides to middle school. Mike was the ring leader, and though it was not as often as my imagination makes it to be, it seemed like every day they threw some part of their lunch at me. Beyond the treats of physical violence and verbal abuse that left me the blunt of the buses laughter, one thing that still sticks with me is that my peers, my friends, would also join in the fray. Why could they play with me in the afternoons, and join the abuse in the mornings? I just didn’t get it.

I remember thinking to myself that one day I would finally be bigger than Mike, and when I was I promised myself I would beat him mercilessly. It was in those days that I first started lifting weights, and my intent was to become physically dominating. It would be years later, probably 15 or more years later that Mike would walk into my office as a banker, cold calling on a multimillion dollar business looking for another client. There he was, his same 5’5” self. He had not grown an inch since middle school, which in and of itself was satisfaction enough. But in that meeting, when he saw me for the first time, he knew what he had done, and the man apologized to me. Really all I could not have ever asked for.

But Mike was not the only one. In high school for 3 years I was brutalized by members of the class above mine. And here is where I realize the source of my dreams.

Last week in the meeting I attend called Iwo Jima, and new guy came in. His name is John and he looked familiar to me. Come to find out we graduated from the same high school. He graduated in 1982, a year earlier and as he named some names that I might remember, he unknowingly actually named a couple of those abusers. And so subconsciously all that pain of the past has been brought once again to the surface.

On the middle school bus it was Mike, Kevin, Ed. In high school the bully was Ed and what seemed like the entire class of 1982. The very same Ed instigated by Mike always seemed to have something belittling to say or found humor in knocking my books out of my hands. And Ed, was no 5’5” individual. More like 6’5” star lineman for the football team.

This all sounds like boys being boys, but these boys didn’t just relegate their torture to words, or cutting me in line for lunch. More than once I showed up to football practice and they had urinated on my equipment.

And so one day my junior year I was late for first period. Ed walked up behind me and knocked all of my books out of my hand again. I said, “Fuck you Ed.” It was then his bear size paw grabbed me by the neck and lifted my 5’8” 150# body up against the lockers. Feet off the ground I teed off on him hitting him in the face at least four times before he dropped me; saved by a teacher who heard the commotion before Ed could gain his wits and pummel me.

Later that day what had happened was exaggerated by the rumor mill, and once through the girls had become a story of how I had beat up Ed and that his face was severely damaged… none of which was true. But that didn’t matter. Because the ultimate humiliation was to come.

I found myself on the football field, for what I can’t remember. But I do remember that there were coaches there that somehow disappeared when my back was turned.  There were classmates of mine that somehow disappeared as well. What I turned to was once again what seemed like the entire calls of 1982. They apparently thought I had bragged about beating up Ed, which I had not. But that did not stop them from surrounding me, yelling at me, spitting on me, pushing me down or slapping me. I literally was in fear for my life. For some time after I re-lived that moment and even prepared how to handle it different. I paid careful attention in Karate classes on how to deal with a crowd, where to attack, and who to attack first.

All of this may not should like much, but this is only a crumb in the loaf of what happened. It really says nothing about the emotions I felt, the support that never came, the tears shed in solitude. It does not touch on the ways that it changed my character, but this is why I believe God allowed all of this to come to the surface now.

For my entire life my motivation has been to never let anyone abuse me again. Never again would I allow someone to impose their will on me. At first weights and strength were the approach. If I could get bigger, stronger, faster then no one could bully me. But there is always someone bigger, stronger, and faster. And being violent only cost me time and money. So having fought more than I cared to from 17 into my twenties I went to the next defense… money. If I could make enough money, then no one would be able to bully me. Sadly, even with millions of dollars I discovered that there is always someone with more money willing and able to bully you.

Having lost the millions, having fought what I hope is my last fight many years ago I have struggled and struggled to regain my wealth. I have viewed the lack of success as more failure, and on some level I actually view my life as vindication to those bullies. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps I am deserving. Perhaps I am relegated to always being that person that some screws over for no other reason than I am here. No wonder I find comfort in isolation.

Sleepless, returning to a place where bullies from the past have gained the upper hand in my emotions and life I can’t help but wonder why.

It is here, in the wonder that God comes alive inside of me. It is here that my spirit is filled with my Father saying, “You are no longer going to be motivated by them.” No more will the subconscious govern the conscious. The subconscious is now the conscious and I choose to no longer listen to it. I choose to forgive them, and I choose to allow that forgiveness to bring down the barriers between me and my obedience to God. I choose to not weigh my success or failure on some ghost of the past that is not even there, nor cares to be a part of it.

For those of you with children I offer this one piece of advice it helping you children deal with bullies. Sometimes there is no way to make friends in the situation. Sometimes there is no way to avoid the situation. Sometimes there is no way to fight out of the situation. But if your child comes to you, or even if they don’t. Just be there for them. Be sad with them. Be confused with them. And most of all, ask what they want you to do about it before doing anything. Otherwise you just end up being part of the problem. 

The music selection is nothing spiritual, but I have complete empathy for it, because it is what being bullied can breed in your heart.