Bully. The very word makes me shudder. It's not a nice word, by any means. It doesn't give me strength nor does it grant me a veil from the stares of others. It's a dirrrttttyyyy word. It's a word that marks me, that tells society I am evil. Mean-spirited. I might as well have a "KICK ME" sign on my back. Because being a bully doesn't save me from another bully, and it doesn't save that bully from another. I used to think that, that in a strange, perverse way, tormenting others would grant me immunity from my own tormentors. It didn't; it never has and it never will. Because being a bully doesn't make you scary; it makes you worthless.

I am a self-confessed bully; well, a reformed one. But a bully, nonetheless. Some people give me a look of disbelief when I share my experiences. I'm not exactly what you'd imagine when you think of a bully: I'm short, sorter than most, with curly hair and a high-pitched voice. I like Dill, from TKAM. I have a way with words. It's always been the words that make people fear me. Because--though I hate to admit it--with a single word, I could make a person hate them self. I could bring up the nastiest, ugliest memory that person had with one word. And it's those kind of bullies that we should fear the most. Because the past can hurt us way more than the present can, and digging it up was my specialty. While other bullies were busy stealing lunch money by the see-saw, I was tearing people down to their roots, their very soul. And I didn't limit myself to those weaker and smaller than me; everyone who moved and annoyed me was a possible target. Middle school--the beginning of what I like to call my "darkest days"--turned me into a monster.

I like to say that, knowing the mind of a bully, there are three kinds of bullies: the one who doesn't know what he's doing, the one who knows and can't stop it, and the one who knows and doesn't want to stop it. I was the third one, and I knew why I didn't want to stop ridiculing my peers: the power. It's intoxicating to have so many people fear and respect you at the same time. The more people I bullied, the more grandiose I seemed to become. Granted, I hated myself; I had always had issues with my identity, I felt self-conscious about my appearance, and problems at home had constantly worried me. It's a paradox, really. Bullies truly hate themselves. And it's this hate that makes the power so alluring, because, in a twisted way, the fear they instill replaces the very hate they have for themselves. They love themselves as a bully, though they hate themselves as people.

Seventh grade, some people, sick of me, threatened to "jump" me. They hated me, they reviled me. And I was scared, truly scared, for the first time in my life. It took some retrospection at that point, because I had allowed myself to go so far down this path. I couldn't tell right from wrong, I couldn't see up from down. I was stuck in a weird deadly dance, though I couldn't tell who my partner was, and I couldn't see if I lead or if I was led. I had no control, no restraint, no temperance in my actions. And I hated myself. I detested myself. I spent that summer crying, seeking direction. I didn't know where to go; could I be a nice person? Did I have to put people down? I didn't have an answer, because is not a question you answer. It's a question you explore, a question you live out. Eighth grade, I was a nice person, I didn't put people down. The damage was done though; only a fraction of my friends returned. I didn't blame the others. I was the storm, and now, only I had to pick up the carnage.

To those I tormented, I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry. Words can't describe the remorse I feel, the nightmares my dark days give me. I know you still hate me, and that's okay. Because, if I were you, I'd hate me too.

To my friends who stood by my side as I found a new me, thank you. It's amazing that after all the evil I had in my heart, all the harm I caused, you guys still managed to find some good in me. It's because of you that I stand on the precipice of life as a new man. A good man.

I regret doing all those things, but I do not regret the lesson they taught me. My mother always said that there are two sides of the world: a light side and a dark side. I'm living on the light side, and, let me tell you, it's beautiful. Straight paradise. But, I once lived on that dark side. The hate I instilled in everyone, myself included, was the dark side of my life, and it's absolute hell. Nobody can imagine the horrors and demons that lurk on that dark side. But it's funny, because, without the dark side, you'd never see the light.