When I view myself in the mirror nowadays, sometimes I think to myself, “Why does this stranger stare at me in my bathroom?” It’s difficult to say if this means I ended up for the good or the worse. I was young, naïve, and thinking that someone would always be at my aid when most crucial, yet I stand before you now, years older, more aware of the world, more solitary and self-reliant. In a way, I hate the way I turned out, but certain things pushed me towards an unavoidably darker path than I would have chosen to follow.

Bishop, California. Early morning Elementary school playground. Picture a small, skinny kid with a high-pitched voice, and long dark hair. While enjoying morning recess, I noticed a group of nearly a half dozen older kids, tossing around a backpack. My backpack. Being an unwise child, I went over to stop them. Quickly surrounded, my role instantly morphed into an object of torment. They tossed around my backpack, got me on the ground, and I recall one of them kicked me when I was down. Unfortunately, my story isn’t like the ones where a group of kids stand up for me and chase away those who preyed on the weak child. The bullies got their way and left me crying in the dirt, proud of their despicable accomplishment. One of my classmates helped me up, ironically one that gave me hell for years. The teachers, supposedly supervising over the schoolyard, remained elsewhere. The kids eventually got punished when brought to the principal. Only one of them received suspension, if memory serves. Yet, this feeling that true justice was never served still remains. The punishment was a token gesture, in order to make up for the fact that the teachers didn’t stop it in the first place. So much for all those Professional Development seminars the tax payers’ dollars provided for Anti-Bullying campaigns! Every time I walked by those posters, I grit my teeth and try not to tear them to shreds. Yeah… right! I have never forgotten that day, and it is for this reason I see this stranger in my mirror.

My story turns out a lot differently from those where the victim declares something like, “I vow never to let bullies get away with picking on those smaller than they!” No chance for some sort of superhero complex developing any time soon. I stayed the Peter Parker half of Spiderman. That innocence I had disintegrated. After considering how neither teachers nor students could help me, instead of making that vow, I thought, “Who do I rely on now?” From that moment on, my entire attitude had changed considerably. I welcomed this stranger and he made himself at home; he hasn’t left yet.

This stranger had a negative influence on my behavior and personality. I used to be a social doormat. My peers walked all over me because of my nice personality, or from being too weak to fight back. Some of those old personality traits remain. I remain too nice and I usually choose not to fight back. I have developed a split personality. I can be spiteful, irritable, and possess so short a temper that once you bend down to see it, you had better pray that you don’t stand up straight with a black eye. My blood pressure rises, even while typing this paragraph! Some may argue that adolescence caused this loss of control. It’s easier to accept for a teen as opposed to analyzing a nine-year-old third grader who had his butt handed to him. The takeaway from this experience was the unfairness of the world. A really tough lesson to teach to a kid who always craved fairness. Apparently, a lesson learned the hard way is still a lesson learned; or so it seems.

How can anyone benefit from reading about the experience of a constantly enraged teen who can barely control his own negative emotions? For those lucky enough to have avoided a tormented childhood, this teaches them the struggles of those not as lucky. It may inspire more compassion. For others, a wake up call to remind them unless steps are taken by their own hands to prepare for what’s ahead of them, they too can end up laying face-down in tear-soaked dirt. These steps are possible to take in a variety of ways, depending on who decides to take them. I had taken an interest to martial arts, but since there wasn’t a local dojo, I had to train myself. Despite having always heard that violence never solved anything, a vengeful person like myself decided to have the proper skills to defend myself should something like this ever happen again. This isn’t the only solution, that is for certain. It just seemed like the only option for someone like me. Keep in mind that this isn’t an inspirational speech. I have absolutely no intention of encouraging others to take the path that, so far, has been unavoidable for me. It wouldn’t end well. In fact, I’m hoping for the complete opposite. If anyone reads this before it’s burned and buried in a forest, I’d hope someone would figure out, “I think the lighter path sounds like the best one to take. I don’t wanna end up like this guy.” Or better yet, I can find a way to take my inner core of justice seeking and create an effective poster for the next generation of Anti-Bullying campaigns. Maybe a reason is hidden in why I went through that way back then. Maybe that’s why I have to continue on this darkened path. Maybe I will be the one who can get the true message out that past efforts have failed to send out to kids. True experience speaks louder than any poster taped to a wall, and its meaning is a lot deeper.