Tired of being the bigger person?

I remember a rock. A big one. A rock so big he had to use both hands to lift it, and he staggered a little. He was going to throw that rock at me. Because I was wrong. I didn’t fit in. I don’t know what it was – my looks, my class, my dialect? I’ll assume all of them, since at one point or another, they’ve all pissed people off.

He lived on my street. The rock throwing incident happened a hundred yards from my house. And when I got home, what did I do? ‘Tell an adult’?

Hell no. What would be the point? I was six years old, and I already knew there was no point. That it would only make things worse.

I remember a foot on mine. Pressing down hard, to make me cry out. I didn’t. We were waiting to go into the classroom, and I pretended like I didn’t feel that foot. Because fuck you, right?

There was a teacher coming in a minute. So what did I do? Tell her?

Nah. Why would I? I was seven, and I had learned to survive by ignoring a long time ago.

I actually got that advice years later, at high school. From a well-meaning adult. ‘They’re just jealous. Ignore them, and they’ll stop.’ She didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. People don’t stop because you ignore them. Oppression doesn’t stop because you take it meekly. Those toxic words are still in use, though. Just ignore the bad things and everything will be fine. Children taught to turn the other cheek. Turning into well-mannered adults who do what they’re told.

If I could go back and teach that girl something, it would be to hit back. I don’t care if that’s not the way to peace. I don’t care if those kids had a difficult time at home. I would throw a bigger stone, give that boy a concussion and get him to stop once and for all. I would kick them in the balls and spread rumours and write nasty letters.

Why? Why would I deliberately go back and make myself a worse person – ‘sink to their level’?

Because maybe then I wouldn’t be so angry now. Maybe every single day I wouldn’t despise myself. And that’s the thing: I understand the anger, all the anger. I understand the trolls and the people who throw invectives around. Many have a hundred times more reason than me to be angry.

When you’ve spent your life trying and failing to fit in, it can make you over-sensitive. When you haven’t been validated, it can be difficult to validate others. Because why should I be the one to take it meekly, to turn the other cheek and behave maturely? Why should it always be me who has to adapt?

No. I understand the hurt that makes you not give a flying fuck what anyone else feels, because this time you’re taking it into your own hands, protecting a child who was never protected by the people who were supposed to be on your side. It may not be constructive, but damn, it can feel good to lash out. To say, “No, actually, I don’t forgive you. Deal with it.”