A show on television about bullying in middle school gets in my head, and I find myself wishing the same suffering I experienced on the children of those who tormented me - constant anxiety, loneliness, confusion in the face of seemingly inexplicable hatred, depression. I even find myself envisioning these children, blameless except for an accident of being born to hateful parents, thinking of killing themselves, the way I used to.
I realize I need to calm my happy ass down when I’m walking down the street to the train as the schools in my neighborhood are getting out, and the groups of kids, loudly laughing and jostling down the sidewalk the way normal kids do, have me striding faster and faster to pass each of them, my pulse racing angrily.
After my train ride, when I arrive at my stop, the gently rocking motion of the train and the familiarity of the station seems to have narcotized my rage, and I’m able to recall some of my usual benevolence for the crowd; a brass quartet echoes Christmas carols off the subway tiles, and I take a deep breath and manage a smile,
One year ago: Not His Night
Two years ago: Sounds Pretty Good, Even to a Vegetarian
Three years ago: Melancholia
Four years ago: That's How I Got Over My Fear of Heights
Seven years ago: So Much For Meditation
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