RAPED INNOCENCE

I have taken time out over the last three months to reflect on why I have only become a bully so late in life. The interesting thing is that since I began this little introspective exercise, the reasons seem to be popping up from every aspect of my early life. I’ll be reminiscing about my parents, teachers, childhood friends, Pus our pet cat, or VoK the cow and I see a habit I picked up that reinforces my bullying. The self-centred ego wants to shout, “Poetic justice! I finally get to pay back in equal measure.” But my moral upbringing and conscientious disposition make me pity those who now suffer because of my acquired vice.

The blame for all the misfortunes I suffered from bullies can go either of two ways. Whichever the case, the larger burden of the blame always will be, in my opinion, borne by the perpetrators of my sufferings. I, for purely hypocritical reasons, concede to bear the rest of the blame. So I can have a genuine proof of the nobility of my personality. How many people can blame themselves for all the ills they suffered?

I suffered the intolerance of my father, the upper handedness of my teacher, the bullying of my schoolmates, the strictness of my mother and the bossiness of my siblings. Where I do not have a physical scar to show for the pain, I have tears neither fully cried nor properly dried from my heart. My aching soul still remembers how much it craved revenge, any hitting back action. That is probably why, despite my desire to move on, I am stuck at bullying hapless innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. My senses are still numb and cannot master my faculties; cannot command them to look and move ahead. My mind is unable to forget the past and concentrate on the future. Only a rape victim would fully understand my trauma. This is not downplaying the agony of rape victims. On the contrary, I am trying to attach sufficient weight to the abuse of my personality by friends, teachers, family, all people I should’ve been able to trust, and every Dick, Jack and Harry.

The question the cynical amongst you will ask is, “What did you do to mitigate your suffering?” Nothing. That’s right; I was too innocent, too respectful, too well behaved, too much of all the things I’d been told were honourable in a man. Consequently, I had an ingrained timidity when it came to dealing with adults or anybody in a perceived higher social standing. I knew it was unfair. My harassed intellect could even then formulate viable logic against such treatment. However, I never saw myself standing up to anybody and giving them a piece of my mind. I was not cut out for such highly charged situations. My victimisers had diligently prepared me for meek acceptance of whatever they threw my way.

I suspect I cannot sit still because my behind is still sore from my father’s thrashing. Perhaps I procrastinate because chores remind me of the punishments at school. It could be that I am unforgiving because I knew no mercy from my mother. Is my overbearing attitude simply my way of having my turn? Never has the meaning of ‘the boy is father of the man’ been clearer to me. I was treated like an emotionless object. Consequently, I learned to live with repressed emotions so as to lessen the effect of all hurtful remarks or actions. Smaller wonder that I can now fail to hear the pleadings for mercy or the painful cries from my victims. Pity and mercy are just other emotions, and I learned to shut off from feeling when it suits me. At some time the on/off action was fated to become autonomous. After all, sifting through words to choose which to take seriously is just as hurtful as the words themselves.

All in all, you will most probably be bullied by me at one time or other if you have the misfortune of crossing me at a time when I am not in control of those impulses. I damn hope that you, however, will not let me get away with it. If you do, you will be reinforcing this retrogressive behaviour. Bullies draw both their strength and motivation from our cowardice and submission. Don’t feed this monster that is intent on polluting my nature and vilifying my morals. Please hit back in all ways you know how; you will not be fighting me, rather bullying as a vice.