You know those people who pride themselves on always “telling it like it is” with “no filter,” who hurt others for sport and then bash anyone who objects for being oversensitive and weak?

I hate those people.

I am one of those people.

I use raw, vicious truth to wound and then I beat up my victim for allowing me to beat her up. I despise myself for it and deservedly so, so I redouble my efforts.

I don’t lie; rather, I practice a cruel version of honesty in which I endlessly repeat the nastiest facts I can think of. When people try to intervene I inwardly sneer because I know that they are liars, telling my victim what they know she wants to hear. She won’t believe them, because she knows I always tell it like it is. No filter. No mercy.

*   *   *

Today I told Twitter that I am ugly and a few kind-hearted liars jumped in to say otherwise. Some of them have met me in person and actually know what I look like, more or less. I thanked them and I meant it, but I know better than to believe them. I have mirrors, you see, and an inner bully that won’t let me view myself in any but the harshest, most unflattering light. I know exactly how I look: Objectively, almost measurably ugly. Tell me I’m pretty – tell me I’m not hideous, even – and I know you’re either guessing or trying to deceive.

It helps to know I’ve somehow connected with people who are willing to try to trick me like that. It helps that they bother. But on days like today, when I’m trapped in my own head with an unrelenting critic bent on showing me just how defective I am, those people will never succeed. I know what I am, which is a big part of why some days I don’t leave the house. Nobody else should have to see me. The world gets uglier the moment I step out the door.

Other people would never tell me that, so I have to do the job myself. I have to protect everyone else – all those gentle bleeding hearts – from the beast that is me. Good thing the beast is weak and oversensitive, a perfect victim. She hates me, I hate her. We agree on everything.

*   *   *

I forced myself to go outside today, just for a while and very close to home. I didn’t run into any other people, although some might have seen me from their windows. I hope not. I looked repulsive. It was a relief to come back inside.

13 thoughts on “Bully

  1. Love trumps looks Melissa. When I was growing up Ruthie proved to me that love covers a multitude of sins. Ruthie was a busy mom of 4 adopted children who allowed her house to fall into rack and ruin because she put people above her own interests. When I left Ruthie’s house all I remembered was how she dropped everything to give me her full attention. I felt important, I felt cherished and special when I was around Ruthie. Ruthie became my model. On days when I feel ugly or lacking I play my Ruthie card to take everyone’s attention off of me. I make people feel special, important, wanted, appreciated. When that is my goal I achieve 2 things: What I think I lack doesn’t matter and a precious relationship is forged.

  2. Unfortunately we live a time when looks are overvaluated. Concentrate on the good stuff about yourself. Think of how many “ugly” people are out there who are happy. Happiness is not about superficial stuff like good looks. I grew up thinking I was rather the ugly duck. Now I’m not the prettiest swan in the lake but I make the most of myself. Make the most of your yourself to help boost your confidence

  3. I don’t know who you are. I haven’t seen your photo and I don’t know what you look like. I Just descovered your blog today. You are me (first part of the blog post) and sometimes you are complitely different(second part) and that confuses me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s