The Bullying Can End. It's Up To Us. - By Matty Jacobson

Bullies are people, too. Maybe we can start at the source
and show them they can be loved without making
others miserable. Matty Jacobson owns, edits and
contributes to The Skewed Review.

THE SKEWED REVIEW | ACTIVISM

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Bullies. They’re everywhere. They’re evil. They must go.

Yes, we’re bombarded by the tribulations of bullying from every media outlet on a daily basis. We’re constantly seeing the destruction left in the wake of bullies—from your run-of-the-mill junior high school kid, to the power-hungry alpha male at work.

Bullies drive people to fear, sadness, depression, anger, self-esteem issues, and, in the worst cases, suicide. We’re constantly seeing, reading, hearing, and watching the pleas of victims and families of victims for the bullying to stop.

But what about the bullies themselves? Who will speak for them?

Now, hold your horses that I assume you’ve got harnessed right next to your computer. I’m not an advocate for bullying. But, I would like to be an advocate for the bully—at least the person under the guise of the bully. So please hear me out.

I have had the opportunity (if you can call it that) to be on both sides of the fence. In my grade school and junior high school years, I was bullied. Believe me, I was bullied so much that, had I not been duped into a religious belief that hell awaited those who committed suicide, I would have taken my life.

I was the “faggot” of every school I went to. I was odd, I dressed differently (and by “differently” I mean “weird”), I was loud, I was fat, and I was effeminate. I was shamed to tears on a daily basis, and believe me, the tears did not help my reputation. From fifth to 10^th grade, my life was a living hell. I was convinced by my peers that I was dumb, fat, ugly, queer, and completely unworthy to live. I was so close to becoming a suicide statistic. I might as well have been walking around with a noose around my neck; I wanted to hang myself every waking moment of my life.

That depression stayed with me. Later in life, when I stopped believing so much in religion, I did try and take my life. When something drastic happened, I’d momentarily slip back into that junior high mentality, and I’d go to extremes. I cut and overdosed—four times. I was hospitalized for three of the four attempts. The effects of bullying can last a lifetime.

But let me get back to my teenage years.

At the 10^th grade mark, I changed schools. I went to a place where nobody knew me. For some reason, I started making friends there. Before I knew it, I was voted student body secretary. I had a close group of friends that I considered family. I was, dare I say it, popular.

In a matter of months my life changed like Rosie O’Donnell when she came out. Only instead of changing from “sweetheart talk show host” to “scary grudge-holding militant”, I went from “crying fat little fag” to “obnoxiously confident queen.”

And then came the real world.

Once I was out of high school, I found the joys of clubs and raves. Drum & bass, breakbeats, happy hardcore, and drugs fueled my existence. I shed the pounds and was suddenly a slender, beautiful creature. And that’s when I suddenly realized that I had to somehow stay on top of the social food chain.

And there’s only one way to stay on top of the food chain: consume the weak. Don’t let anyone tell you that “The Lion King” can’t teach you a lesson.

I started becoming what I loathed the most when I was younger: a bully. I talked trash about people I thought were weaker than I was. I made people cry. I even destroyed people’s property for the sheer entertainment value. And all for what? It’s because I didn’t want to be on the other side of it again. It was much easier living life as a bully than as the bullied.

But it was all fueled by fear. It was fueled by a low self-esteem. It was fueled by a mentality that if I didn't pick on the weak, then I was the weak. This is what drives most bullies to do what they do. They're still human, just like you and me. But under it all, they're just as scared as we are. They've just adapted to life and are surviving the only way they know how: by being the strongest, the scariest, the most wicked.

So now I have a call to action for each and every one of you. The fight to end bullying can’t just be about shaming bullies and telling them they’re wrong. I think we need to start showing bullies that it’s completely possible to be happy without treading on the lives of others.

Will my faithful readers please join in my plight and find one bully this year. Find just one person who is making your life a living hell, and try and see life from that person’s point of view. Let’s take that one person and try and turn him or her into our friend.

We may not succeed, but at least we can say we tried.

So, let me be the first. I'd like to turn myself into a friend. In my last article, I called KateDalley a pervert. Now, I still stand by my argument that too many people are equating homosexuality with pedophilia, and I will never waver on that. But, in my attempt to make my point, I started to become the bully again.

I will leave my original article as is so you can read my words. I want you all to see how easily a person can become a bully--sometimes without even realizing it. But I will also make an amendment: My personal attacks on Dalley were unwarranted, uncalled for, unnecessary and wicked. I feel threatened by Mrs. Dalley because I feel she is misinformed. And what I did, calling her names, was a childish thing to do. It made me a villain. It made me a bully. And I’m not proud of that.

And I am not making this apology because I was pressured to—if you know me, then you’ll know I do things because I want to do them, not because someone else tells me to do them. Does Dalley’s point of view still piss me off? You bet your buttermilk biscuits it does. But do I hate Kate Dalley? That can't be said because I don't know her personally. Do I have permission to call her names? No. And I am sorry. I was a bully again, and that’s not acceptable.

Let’s make 2013 the year we help a bully see that life can be lived, happily at that, without having to feed on someone else’s life. Go on. Go hug your bully. At least you can say you tried to make a difference.