This is going to be a really morbid, not-nice, rotten underbelly of a blog entry. The brutal truth as I perceive it is quite often that way.
I don’t even know where to start. Bullying, the long-term effects of bullying, petty revenge, mental health issues, mortality, more fucking suicide, the wildly deviating ways that different people view the same reality, the harboring of old resentments and the partaking of perverse glee at the misfortune of others (but only as warranted!) – it’s all in here. What a mess.
I have a bilateral cleft lip and palate, and because of this I was mercilessly tortured at school by many horrible kids. Easily a hundred or more of the little bastards across the years and at 3 different schools – but one bully sits atop the pile as the worst of them. The Crown Creep. The evilest, meanest, most hateful and most despised bastard of them all. Interestingly, this particular creep isn’t just at the top of my pile… he’s at the top of several piles. I have gossiped with many old school mates on Facebook as people are wont to do, and multiple people have told me that he tormented them as well. A few of them have done the adult and mature thing that some people are capable of doing (not me) and say “he was just a kid” and moved on, but most of them (like myself) still purport to hate this dude and to rue the mere sight of him, even after 20+ years.
Barring a few individuals – fewer all of the time – I largely resent the miserable lot of jerks that I went to school with. I’m “friends” with some of those jerks on Facebook that I was never friends with in real life – I have many times contemplated deleting the whole miserable lot of them, and even my profile itself but I have had the stupid thing since 2007 and don’t want to do anything rash and undo-able. I can just not log in if it pisses me off… full deletion is a bit extreme. Besides, games and apps.
I set almost all of the creeps from my school days to restricted viewing and just voyeur every so often into their lives. Not often or in a driven way, but I see what drivel rolls across my news feed. The truth is, like Don Henley said, people love dirty laundry. I am on the outside of their stupid cliques, way out, but I still want to see if anything “interesting” happens. I have even hoped that some of those “friendships” (snort!) might one day offer me a window into viewing a misfortune fall upon one of my enemies. I know that it is really very much not nice, but it’s the truth – and I don’t just hate on random people. I hate people who bought and paid for my contempt with their own hate-filled, provocative actions. I’m talking about real people in the real world, of course.
Celebrity World is a different and completely unrelated story.
Not to come off like some sort of a Pollyanna goody-two-shoes, but the truth is I am relatively meek, docile and benign. I want to go my own way, and leave others alone, and likewise be left the fuck alone. I do not provoke or instigate people. I don’t initiate contact with people. Minimal contact is desired. Give me my library books or my change or whatever so I can go HOME!! I literally only leave my house for the stuff I need and then I go home. I don’t go to bars. I don’t go to clubs. I don’t go to anybody’s house. I don’t go anywhere. I don’t even go to the parades in town because I don’t want to see the pedo-fucko on parade. (He and his nasty sister always have their stupid ponies in the parades. Not the sister I talk about in this blog entry, but his other one).
People unfailingly find a way to fuck with me first, and in the process, they make me hate them. (Like that bitch with her BBQ grill smoke in our window… God damn her). And that bitch that I don’t even know – I never met her in my life – that harassed me at the river. Stuff like that, see? Strangers fucking with me… it’s been a life-long trend.
This bastard… I didn’t even know this kid, he started out a grade ahead of me. We never hung out or communicated or had any sort of a dispute or anything like that. I didn’t KNOW the fucking kid!! At all! All the same, he would see me in the halls between classes and throw garbage at me, and whack me with rubber bands, and he had an endless repertoire of remarks about my fucked-up lip.
“Rip lip”, “vacuum-cleaner-kisser”, “I told you to quit trying to make out with my Rottweiler, even he won’t have you, see? he bit your face when you tried to french-kiss him” and “you exploded another crack pipe in your face? again?!” were among his favored jeers. The teachers didn’t do a damn thing about it. The principal didn’t do anything, either.
I have known from very early age that I had a fucked-up lip and some people irrationally hated me for it. This guy was not the first… but most of the brats would make fleeting, snide remarks of a covert variety, to avoid detection by the teachers. This dude didn’t give a fuck! He harassed me super-loud and super-proud and very overtly, right in front of teachers and everybody else, and he got away with it. Those idiot teachers didn’t do a goddamn thing about it. They didn’t even try. He was the first to introduce me to such extreme, overt and ceaseless hate and harassment because of my lip, as well as to the fact that the adults around us had no intention of protecting me from him. I watched how the other kids noticed how the teachers didn’t do shit to him, and so they took it as a green light to start harassing me themselves. It’s possible that some of those creeps would have continued to leave me alone (for the most part) if this guy hadn’t paved the way to turning fucking with me into a sport.
The escalation of the harassment of this nature, which was executed by several kids but mainly the one that this particular blog entry is about, started when I was in the fourth grade and he was in the fifth. All through fourth and fifth grades he harassed me, in the hall between almost every single goddamn class. When I was in the 6th grade there was a brief reprieve, at least in the hall between classes, because he had moved upstairs as a 7th grader. He still harassed me on the school bus and around our neighborhood and even in the goddamned river.
One day I went to the swimming hole I have spoken of elsewhere in this blog and he was there, soaking his miserable asshole right in my swimming hole. 😡🔥 I didn’t even stick around to swim, I just went home. 😞 When I got home my grandmother said “what are you doing here? I thought you went to the falls?” I said, “I did, but the water was polluted”. 😆
I hated that fucking kid. Once I moved up to the 7th grade, his harassment in the hallways between damn near every class resumed, fervently.
My mother and my grandfather both spoke to the principal about this kid and not and damn thing was done about him. He continued to be a hate-filled little monster and to terrorize the school. Once when my grandfather pulled up to the front of the school in the old station wagon to pick me up, this creep and his bully little friends threw rocks at his car. He parked and stormed into the school, demanding to talk to the principal about those brats. They jeered him the whole way but didn’t quite dare to throw a rock directly at him once he was out of the car. He could tell that they really wanted to, he said. Surprise, surprise, surprise, per usual, nothing was done about the incident. That principal – hell, that whole pathetic school – was a fucking joke. My grandfather was livid.
This was the late 80’s, so security cameras and motion sensors and near-constant hall monitors or security officers were not a thing at schools yet. At this particular school, neither was lockable lockers. Bloody hell! Due to this, I had used tampons and maxi pads put in my locker one more than one occasion. Once, a used maxi pad was accompanied by a ketchup mess… and chocolate pudding covered tater tots.
Such very clever kids, no?
Everybody had a great big ha-ha at my expense and rumor had it that this most despised dude had arranged for some of his bitchy little classmates, who also hated me (for no reason other than I had dared to have been born with a cleft lip), pull them out of the garbage in the girl’s restroom & stick them by the remenants of their nasty old adhesive, into my locker.
In this particular shitsville of a school the Study Hall classroom was twice the size of a regular classroom, it was divided right on the annex of where the whole stupid school takes what is maybe a 150° bend. There were doors on both sides of this large room, so people walking in the halls could easily see where people in other classes regularly sat during their Study Halls. Since people are creatures of habit and you know in those situations once a territory is established by a certain group of kids, that is pretty much how it stays for the whole school year. So, somebody bothered to take note of where I sat, and one day when I came in, “RIP LIP” in big artsy 3-D letters had been inked heavily across my desk. Eventually, like a week later a teacher saw it and the desk was removed from the room. I didn’t bother to tell, for obvious reasons. It is amazing a teacher ever got around to noticing it, really.
It was an endless barrage of bullshit from this kid. All day. Every day. Between every class change. At every lunch. On every school bus ride home. And more of the same if I was unfortunate enough to run into him, around the neighborhood after school. This dude to some extent fucked up my actual life.
To this day I have trouble sticking up for myself because I still have this deep-seated fear that if I try, the bully will just override me with loud and retarded mimicry of whatever I am trying to say, without relent and with nobody to stop him, but with several jeers and cheers of encouragement to keep him going. Ridiculous, right? Well, that’s how it always panned out for me, see?
I would come home from school screaming and crying. I wouldn’t let the kids at school see me like that so I held my shit together the best I could, but once I got home I could cry and scream and throw myself onto the floor in agonized fits. My mother, as I have established elsewhere in this blog, was a foolish, narcissistic bitch. She didn’t rationalize, “my already traumatized kid is being tortured on the hourly, on the daily, by older and bigger kids. What can I do? How can I help her?” No, she was like, “this kid is an unmanageable fucking brat so I am going to go to a bunch of shrinks and take a bunch of psyche meds and end up in the psyche ward – a couple of different times! – and then have her see a shrink and end up on meds too!”
So, that’s what she did. Idk what that asshole kiddie-shrinker put me on but it fucked me up good. My grandmother says that I was lethargic, puffy, zombified. My face was pale and bloated bread dough, with floating raisin eyes and huge under-eye circles. I didn’t act like a hyper, disturbed kid anymore, I just sat around stupidly, complacently. My mother loved that! My grades slipped. My hygiene slipped. As one might suspect, this didn’t exactly help matters at school. I started having hyper-realistic nightmares. I still remember two of them quite vividly. To tell them here will sound stupid, but at the time I was a drugged, psychologically tortured 10 year old, and the nightmares were were terrifying.
In one of them, a large, blobby floating thing that had a monstrous face and was shaped like a hot air balloon or a light bulb was floating outside of my bedroom window, and it was droning over and over in the creepiest monotone alien voice, “window… window… window… window…” Dumb in retrospect, right, but at the time it sent me squalling down the stairs in mortal terror.
Not long after that I had the second stupid nightmare, which involved my knock-off generic cabbage patch rip-offs and barbie rip-offs and my little pony rip-offs (I was seldom worth the real, brand-name toys; more generics and dollar store rip-offs) coming to life and rising up against me in some sort of a great toy revolt. That nightmare also caused me to run a-squall down the stairs full-tilt-boogie to my bitch of a brain-addled Mommy in the middle of the night. Of course she lamented about these night terrors to my grandmother, and my grandmother made her take me off of those fucked-up drugs. Whatever they were.
How can I know what those drugs were? Or what their long term effects on me are? Maybe they made me susceptible to MCS. Maybe they made me susceptible to mental illness. Who knows? There is no way to know. It pisses me off.
I haven’t gotten to her in my I Can’t Keep a Friend series, but the so-called best friend of my childhood, some pig-faced little snot named Jennifer, ended up dumping me and becoming friends not with just any old kids, oh no, but with my worst enemies in the school – of course!! – because that’s just how my life goes. It’s how it’s always went. It’s how it will continue to go. Par for teh course.
Jennifer ended up dating the Crown Creep! Sick!
Yesterday it finally happened… the happenstance that I have low-key been holding out for. Thanks to those stupid fake “friendships” on Facebook that I never severed, I learned that the most despised bully shot himself in his stupid head and died on the night of August 12th. On the night of the Perseid meteor shower. I guess the stars really did fall out of his sky, no? Gee, that’s too bad.
Oh, did you note a marked lack of compassion about that? Yeah, sorry, not sorry. I’m glad that the sonofabitch is dead. There, I said it.
In a previous lament, I mention Sharon, whom I haven’t talked to in well over a year. This bully, this creep, he tortured her almost as badly if not as badly as he tortured me. She was in the same grade as him so she had a lot more exposure to the miserable bastard. He invited her to the prom as a joke. Nice joke. I logged into Second Life (where she lives) and unsurprisingly, she was there. I told her that the dude had offed himself, and she delighted in it with me.
Does that sound sick? Too bad. The guy was an asshole. He tormented us ceaselessly for years. “One less scum to worry about running into around town” she said. I agree wholeheartedly. I saw him once at the store and just the sight of his sickening, flat face made me feel punched-in-the-stomach for about an hour. This was inside of a year ago. That’s how much I still hate this dude, 20+ years later.
I ended up leaving that school after the 7th grade, thanks to my mother and the pedo-fucko, so with me gone, it intensified his harassment of Sharon. Sharon claims that he is why she dropped out of school the following year. I believe it. He was that bad. He was merciless. And ugly? Jesus Christ, was that dude ugly. Inside AND out. He was the most curious color…
Myself, Sharon, and another girl – Wendy – she was the younger sister of the pedo-fucko; I have mentioned her and her pedo-fucko brother elsewhere in this blog. She was an unfortunately toothy, frizzy, freckle-y not-at-all-attractive lass. The poor dear regretfully resembled a jack-o-lantern. We were just a small faction of the kids that this creep harassed but we were all weak, damaged, unpopular and nerdy so of course we were some of his very favorite victims. We got it the worst.
We were nice kids and we didn’t fuck with anybody, we did our very best to be left alone… but this one asshole, this guy picked at us and picked at us and picked at us and picked at us until eventually we took a few retaliatory swipes of our own. We had to do it covertly, of course.
Well, I did the bulk of the brain-storming and the work, but they helped.
Some of the upperclassmen, bullies themselves, too old and too large to be intimidated by the likes of his weaselly little ass, took note of this kid’s strange color. The kid… idk if he had nutritional issues or what because he & his pale, malnourished slip of a sister were both skeletally thin… but the dude was kind of green. Because of this the older boys, much to our delight, enjoyed turning the bullying table on him and calling him clever names such as Kermit the Fag and The Incredible Dork.
I think it was Sharon that got a hold of the shiny, green broad-tipped permanent marker, and I got green ribbon from our Christmas crap, curled it up and put it in my purse, and Wendy got a hold of some sparkly laser green frog stickers. Wendy & I stayed after school for a roller-skate party in the gym. We escaped from the gym and skated down the elementary hallway down to the other end of the school, where we would be less liable to be heard and caught as we clomp-clomped up the stairs, into the dark, abandoned hallway of the upperclassmen. We hastily decorated his locker with stickers and ribbons and large green text proclaiming that it wasn’t easy being green.
A petty revenge, really. Kid revenge. The next day I was called into the principal’s office – just me – and he told me, “we know you were at the after-hours skate party last night. Did you leave the party at any point and go into the upstairs hallways?” I innocently denied it all with big little eyes and the principal, true to his natural form, didn’t do a damn thing.
We didn’t stay cute about our petty vengeances for long. The Crown Creep’s abuse of pretty much all kids weaker than he was (unless they were popular and cute, of course) carried on and on, escalated. He tortured us on the daily for weeks, months, and on into literal years. Plural. For me it was 4 years, cumulatively speaking. We were nice kids but due to his endless bullying, we (probably me in particular) started to get a little bit psychotic.
…Or maybe that was a side effect of the fucked-up psyche pills my mother had me on.
I hate the story of how I ended up unexpectedly leaving that school, but it was a sick blessing in disguise. The horrible bully creep had failed the 8th grade so I would have been in the same classes with him! It would have been a nightmare – I probably would have ended up quitting school like Sharon did.
Even my former friend Toby, who I wrote about in the blog entry titled The Pedophile’s Dream, transferred to another school largely because of this ONE asshole’s endless torment. No shit.
Being in the same classes as this insufferable asshole – it would have been so bad. I only would have ended up sharing classes with the creep for a year, though – this kid was so fucking stupid that he failed again and ended up in the grade below mine!
We ended up pitting two more petty revenges against the guy before my unexpected departure from that school. Each revenge was nastier than the last. Since he thought it was cute to be putting shit in our lockers we decided to give him a little taste of what that was like.
I had found a small foam head somewhere, maybe at a yard sale. We colored it a pale green (like him!) and stabbed a busted pen into its eye and let the ink run out everywhere. We stabbed pins and nails into the whole mess and we melted the foam face a bit on a light bulb, malforming it, and we also used a light bulb and some wax paper to melt a red crayon all over it like dripping, running blood. We impaled the thing witha note that said, “Don’t Fuck with the Mafia’s Children”. That went into his locker. We didn’t hear anything about that from the principal or from anybody else. He didn’t tell everyone – or seemingly anyone about it – he hid it and kept his mouth shut.
It didn’t freak him out so much as we had hoped it would, though, and his relentless harassment of all of us continued as regularly programmed. Sharon and Wendy had also both attempted to go to teachers, guidance counselors and the principal about how merciless and unrelenting this guy was. We were all routinely ignored. He was allowed to run rampant.
Therefore, none of us feel bad about what we did next. Why should we?
Wendy’s father was a nasty old pig of a man, who, with the help of his wife and children, barely managed to run a half-assed “farm”. One of the silos on his property reeked of death and decay; it contained many dead chickens in various states of decay. I was a macabre kid and I had a animal skull collection, so I had already scored a couple of clean chicken skulls out of that silo. I also remembered the, eh, much newer, not-so clean skulls.
Our landlord worked at a local dairy and often gave us – and his pigs – many cartons of sour cream and yogurt and cottage cheese. Those damned dairy tubs were all over the place so it wasn’t hard for us to get our hands on one. They weren’t pussy-assed things like you buy at the stores now – they had very serious lids that took some effort to pry off. Wendy fished a couple of the juicier chicken heads out of her dad’s sicko silo and put it in a tub with some other unsavory stuff from around the farm… and then I added to it some stuff from my cat’s litter box and the landlord’s pig trough. Also some of my sister’s perfume. (I didn’t have MCS yet back then). That mess sat tightly sealed and hidden in a basement right next to a nice, hot furnace for a week or so, and then that whole lovely festering mess got covertly smuggled into the school and dumped into his locker! Oh god… it was horrible. 😊
I got called into the principal’s office again – why me? Why always me? Why not Wendy and/or Sharon? I got called via the announcement speaker system, so the whole school hears that. Jeez. The principal stared at me for a very long time without a word. I stared back, unflinching, offering nothing. He asked, “did you do something to (name redacted)’s locker? I carried on with my big-little-eyed innocent act and I was like, “omg no! What happened to (name redacted)’s locker?” 😲! I absolutely did not cave, I did not give an inch or tip my hand. In the end he had proof of nothing and he had to let me go, scot-free. Ha ha.
There have now been over a dozen public acknowledgements of this jerk’s demise on his public Facebook wall (I am not nor have I ever been his “friend” but I can see some of whats going on due to public or “friends of friends” settings). This boggles me and it annoys me. It boggles me because some of the stuff people have posted… “a good friend”, “a good father”, “I love you”, “you will be missed”, and perhaps the grossest and most nonviable of all, “handsome”. I am like… how? Who? This can’t be the same dude, can it?!! If so, then how?!! How do other people apparently see this greasy little creep so very differently?
It annoys me because when I croak, nobody’s going to leave a bunch of soggy, sentimental shit on MY stupid Facebook wall. Nobody’s even noticed that I have gone completely inactive on my real profile for approx. 4 months now. Meanwhile, I am not a hateful person who routinely tortured others. Why did he get to have people who cared for him while I have nobody?
From what I can tell on Facebook and from what a mutual “friend” told me, this guy owns his house, he owns his truck, has 6 kids (!) two ex-wives and a girlfriend. How he managed all that with his ugly mug and his even uglier heart, I’ll never fathom. He recently got a promotion at his job. He seemed to have friends. He was able to go hunting and fishing and snowmobiling and 4-wheeling. He had access to many things that I never will.
Why? How? I don’t know.
I also don’t know what could have been oh-so-miserable in his life that he had to kill his stupid self over it, but I don’t feel even a little bit bad about it. He deserved it, whatever it was. On his Facebook wall, somebody posted a music video and said “He sent me this song not too long ago and said, “Karma and life that you deserve”. Huh. Interesting.
I’d buy that, even revel in the irony of it, except for one little thing.
If that’s how it works, then what did I do to deserve this miserable life of ridicule, exclusion and isolation from others, thanks in part to the way I get treated by assholes like him?
I really do not know.
Ha ha, sucker, I outlived you. Now if anything, you will serve me as an incentive to not end up like you. I will not cave and kill myself like you did.