Trigger warning: bullying, self-image, abuse
I retain two memories of being bullied as an adult. I don’t remember being bullied as a kid, mostly, probably, because I was homeschooled and not around my peers much at all. But I do remember two occasions of being targeted by bullies as an adult.
The first was way back in 2015. Nine years ago about this time I attended a showing of the film Furious 7 from The Fast and the Furious franchise. Paul Walker had recently died in a car crash, but the film was completed and came out in theaters as his final performance. I’ve been a fan of the F&F movies since 2001 when the first film debuted, and of Paul Walker in particular. I’ve seen most of his movies, and still believe he was the soul of the Fast films. Consequently, the prospect of Furious 7 stirred up emotions in me even before I saw the movie.
I bought my ticket, and went to a showing. I don’t remember how many people were in the theater that day, but the ending of the film, written in light of Walker’s passing, is bittersweet and sad. I cried. As I was walking out of the theater, I was wiping tears from my eyes. Even now, as I recall the memory of that moment, I want to excuse my behavior or defend myself because of what happened next. A few men waiting in line for their movie to start called out “hey, that guy’s crying!” and started to laugh derisively towards me as they pointed.
Most of my adult life I have hidden my emotions. I don’t cry much now, as unhealthy as that still is, and I don’t really feel furious, or other “negative” emotions like I once did. Part of that is the medication I am on to control my depression and bi-polar tendencies, but part of that is a life-long steel grip on my emotions.
I am not sure entirely if this is where it all comes from, but I do remember that when I was “in trouble” as a child and my dad spanked me, I would cry out in rage, fear, and pain. I think, afraid that someone would hear and call the police, he forbade me from making any sound while he thrashed me with his belt, bent over the bed as I was. I learned then to suppress outward emotions, and certainly tears and cries. Anyway, I didn’t cry much, and still don’t.
That I walked out of the theater with tears in my eyes that day is a testament to how much I was affected by the moment. But, as soon as I was pointed out, embarrassment, anger, and shame followed my sadness. I had nothing to be embarrassed about, and shouldn’t have been made to feel shame because of my emotion, but those bullies made me feel ten again, or however old I was when my dad was routinely spanking me for acting out. I couldn’t help it. I don’t have an answer for that moment, and am not entirely sure why I feel compelled to speak about it now, but it has been on my mind lately.
The second event of bullying as an adult came a few years after that. I don’t have it timestamped in my head because I don’t have an anchoring memory like the Paul Walker film. But I do know where I was. I had been shopping at Harbor Freight here in the town where I live, looking for some tools or supplies, I don’t remember which. I was minding my own business, shopping in silence as I usually do, not talking to anyone, and had just finished checking out.
A security guard near the entrance called out to me as I passed, and I have a sense memory of him poking me (though I am not sure he actually touched me), but he said “he’s a thick’un!” as I passed by and he laughed. He was, of course, referencing my size. I am not a small person in size, though I am short. I haven’t much talked about my weight, but I am definitely overweight. All my life I have struggled with self-image, even before I had grown large. I remember, again, being a child, and being excited to tell my mother that a large enough t-shirt would hide my belly. I am certain that at the time I was not fat at all, but I remember being relieved that there existed some way to hide what size I was anyway.
Fast forward to a few years ago: no 3x size t-shirt is able to hide my gut, and this security guard could obviously see how large I was/am (my size hasn’t decreased since that day). That he would feel the need to point it out to me and to the other customers in the store was more than humiliating. I didn’t say anything, but walked out of the store and to my car and drove away. But I was angry, ashamed, and guilty. I was angry that he made me feel less than. Ashamed that I was fat and “undesirable”. Guilty that I feel like I have done this to myself through a lack of self-control. None of those three things are true, but they are ingrained in my psyche nonetheless.
I am more than my size, and am allowed to cry and express emotion. I know that, but I don’t emotionally internalize that. I still am upset every time I see myself and how large I am. I still don’t cry. I don’t know what to do with this, but maybe now that I have admitted it to the world what reads my blog, maybe I can slowly start a healing process. I am tired of holding all my emotions inside, and never releasing them. I am tired of being ashamed of what I look like.
These bullies still live rent free in my head as the memory of both days is clear. I don’t remember good days and happy times readily, but these stick out. I guess that is part of the human condition, but I wish it was the opposite. I wish I could forget these cruel individuals and instead remember more wonderful events with my family, or my wife, or my friends. Alas.
I don’t have a happy ending here. But I want to change, to embrace who I am and how I feel, and that is something to build on. I may need to find a therapist again, and explore parts of myself I’ve kept hidden away for far too long. It would be nice to be one and whole again for the years I have left on this planet.
a simple man 