HS Was Years Ago, Yet I Still Vividly Remember How You Bullied And Victimized Me

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Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe not to you, but to me it did. It mattered because the words stuck. It has been years, and they’re still there. I can still hear your voice in my head. I can hear it echo every time I look at the toilet, a razorblade, or a bridge. Do you not remember that day? The day you found out that my uncle had killed himself? Do you remember what you said? You said, “Too bad it wasn’t you.”

I remember that you saw the lines of scabs on my wrist. All of them were mostly hidden by bracelets and long-sleeved shirts. You smiled, looked at me, and shook your head. My friends forced me to eat that day at lunch. I excused myself to the school restroom minutes after eating. I was on my knees, and my hands were wrapped around the toilet bowl as the food in my stomach was purged into the disgusting toilet. I remember you coming up from the other stall and saying, “Like that will help!”

Do you remember when I went to the bathroom to wash my face and you followed me in there? I can still feel your hand smack across my face. I can still feel the incredible force you used to throw me against the wall, only to tell me how worthless I was. The night you smacked me was the night you found out that I tried to kill myself. You heard I jumped off a bridge. You stopped from there.

image: Martin Cooper Ipswich


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