• Broken

    by  • August 14, 2017 • * Safe for Work *, Hatred • 1 Comment

    So for years I had been bullied on my bus and it didn’t stop until ninth grade. So if you do the math, I was bullied for around nine years, probably less than that. I had never told anyone about the verbal abuse I took because I didn’t think I was being bullied until I realized I was in eighth grade. My bully, it’s like they wired my brain for all those years. If they talk to me, I tense up because i’m scared they’re going to hurt me. If they even put a finger on me or put a hand on my shoulder, I have a panic attack because I can’t deal with them. I’ve never told anyone this because i’m scared it would ruin my chances of being in the Marine Corps. But it honestly helps talking about it. My bully never knew what they did to me, and I want to tell them, but i’m afraid i’ll start yelling and hurt them the way they hurt me. I would never wish that on anyone, even people I hate. I hate that i’m programmed. I. HATE. THIS.

    One Response to Broken

    1. Lolly
      August 14, 2017 at 3:48 pm

      I’ve seen similar trauma too. I am generally unwilling to use the term broken when it comes to myself or others or myself who have suffered great trials but carry those memories with, because broken generally means unable to function and I refuse /do not want to be consideeed to be as such. Contemplating when I myself have felt most fractured or closer to the brink than I would like, I try to remember that most broken things can be mended. They may not be the same as before but that does not diminish purpose.

      I’m sad for the pains you experienced, I appreciate your perspective.

      Maybe I can use what I learned through my former pains to restructure reality in a way I find more pleasing, with a little help from others who also share my vision of what we could become.

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