Bully-In-Chief

They called me retard.

They called me fat boy.

They called me faggot.

They broke my school supplies, tripped me in the hallways, pinned me down and farted on me, gave me headlocks and Indian burns. They made fun of me for my weight, my shyness, my lack of interest in sports or anything they cared about. They found out my phone number and tortured me with prank phone calls. They goaded me into fights, knowing that I was weaker than they were and would easily kick my ass. They sent me home in tears, making me feel like something less than human. I hated them and often fantasized about killing them. After I got off the bus, I would get the BB gun that I had gotten for Christmas a few years before and shoot at plastic two-liter pop bottles in my backyard, pretending they were my classmates. To this day, I am grateful that I did not have access to real firearms.

I carried that anger and humilation with me for years, plotting revenge fantasies that I knew probably weren't ever going to happen. It's no exaggeration to say that being bullied as a kid has shaped me into who I am as an adult. I still suffer from severe depression and anxiety issues. I am frequently concerned about what others think of me and am always nervous about being confronted. My sense of humor and happy exterior are sometimes the armor that I need to wear for when the pain becomes too great. Behind this goofy, sarcastic front lies a heart that's breakable and nerves that fray far too easily. Though I'm relatively happy these days, there are times when I'm on the verge of tears and it's all I can do to keep from breaking down. Medication helps, as does support from family and friends, as well as exercise and keeping busy. Anything to take my mind away from the darkness that I've carried with me since I was a boy, when one of my classmates randomly beat the shit out of me on the playground for no apparent reason. I was hurt and angry, but mostly, I was confused. Why had he singled me out for abuse? I had done nothing to hurt him. I continued to be a target of his abuse for years afterward, to the extent that I had to switch schools. I later learned that he lived a life of poverty and came from a broken home, but at that point, I didn't care anymore. Fuck him. He didn't have any right to take it out on me, no matter how bad his upbringing was. He later went to prison for burglary, and I didn't have one lick of sympathy for him. I hoped he was getting his ass kicked every single day by hardened criminals, the way that he had done to me years before. It served him right.

I was reminded of that bully and all of the other ones who harrassed me as a child this past year, when I saw Donald Trump campaigning to be President. In Trump, I saw all of the traits of those assholes all over again: mean-spiritedness, narcissism, arrogance, pettiness, and a lack of empathy toward anybody that they viewed to be inferior. I was reminded of them when he mocked a reporter with a physical disablility. I was reminded of them when he bragged that he could shoot anyone on the streets of New York City and not get arrested. I was reminded of them when he talked about grabbing women by their "pussies" and all of the other disgusting misogynistic comments that spew out of his landfill mouth. I'm reminded of them when I hear horror stories of his supporters spraying anti-Semitic graffiti in public parks or stealing hijabs from the heads of Muslim women. I think of them when I hear stories of him appointing Steve Bannon, an admitted White Nationalist, into a position of power in the White House.

Trump's America is a place for bullies. His election is a triumph for every racist, bigoted, xenophobic, homophobic, Islamophobic, anti-Semitic, misogynistic, ableist cretin who feels that they have the right to feel superior to any other human being on the planet. It empowers every lowlife who carries prejudice and hatred for others in his heart and makes them feel better to make someone else feels worse. And like all bullies, Trump is a thin-skinned coward at heart. This is a man who has the nerve to offend everyone in his path, but can't handle a little ribbing from Saturday Night Live or a heartfelt message of optimism from the cast of  Hamilton. Anyone who can't handle criticism is not qualified for the office of the Presidency. How is he going to handle threats from ISIS if being spoofed by Alec Baldwin throws him into a rage?

Nevertheless, I haven't given up hope that maybe Trump will change for the better. People can change. Earlier this year, I received a message on Facebook from one of my former bullies. He was very apologetic for what he had done, and seemed genuinely remorseful for the way he had treated me over twenty years ago. I did something I thought I would never do: I forgave him. I did so because I was tired of letting anger and resentment consume me. What he and his friends did was not OK and it did shape my life in negative ways, but I was tired of hating him and planning unlikely revenges. It was obviously difficult for him to reach out to me, knowing the shame and guilt he carried inside. And plus, his father had recently passed away, so I wasn't going to add a "fuck you" on top of that as well. We'll probably never be friends, but at least we're no longer enemies.

Who knows? Maybe Trump will learn the error of his ways and change his tune, making America safe for the poor and the downtrodden, and every persecuted minority in the nation will no longer have to feel angry or afraid. Sure, the guy is seventy years old, but it's never too late to change. Maybe when he's in his nineties, he's finally have his act together.