This is the photo my bullies see on Facebook: 4am at a sake bar in the East Village.

This is the photo my bullies see on Facebook: 4am at a sake bar in the East Village.

Within the past few months I’ve accepted “friendships” on Facebook from former bullies. Why? Well, honestly, fuck if I know. No! I kid! I know exactly why: I won. Well, if life is some sort of disorted competition where winning is the goal, then, um, yeah, I have that shit in the bag.

While I look at the lives of the one or two bullies I knew in junior high and high school, I’m quite certain my life is better than the lives they have. I don’t think they agree. I imagine they look at my life and see me as the failure: mid-30’s, single, childless, traveling the world, living in New York City, fucking pretty boys, without an adult obligation in sight. Yes, it’s pretty pathetic; my life. My parents, who raised me to be an independent, free spirit, but want grand-babies from me, will agree with them to an extent. THEY WANT A GRAND-DAUGHTER. I’M THEIR LAST HOPE.

Where is my stability? Where are my babies? Where is my husband? Where is my permanent residence in a home for which I paid for through the nose? I don’t know. The future, maybe… if at all?

I hate to say it, but there is some glory in accepting your former bullies as “friends” on Facebook. Never trust someone who says “trust me,” but trust me on this one… without a doubt. If you “friend” a former bully on Facebook, you’ll see. Those who are bullied, nine times out of 10, are the ones who flourish. You think Steve Jobs was hot commidity in high school?

 

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