I read the diary "the Day They Broke Me" and it caused me great anger because the abuse that person suffered on that day was a normal occurrence for the first decade and a half of my life.
I suffered far worse than what was described in such painful detail. There were far too many opportunistic assaults on my being, both physical and emotional assaults, but those were mild compared to the planned and coordinated attacks. And the worst were the deceptions and intentional betrayals by those who pretended to be my "friend" long enough to get to drop my guard so they could hurt me even more.
They used my pain, anguish, anger and heart wrenching pleas to simply be left alone as entertainment. It was what they did as individuals and groups to amuse themselves daily.
Much like the other author the teachers stood by doing nothing for fear of making it worse or because they didn't care.
I would return home only to be subjected to more abuse from my "family" being blamed for causing the problem, being beaten until I would stop crying about being hurt.
They broke you? I'm really sorry to hear that. I lived with that every single day for 15 years. It would not stop, no one would help me, and the ones I had no choice but to turn to for help abused me more and what advise was offered was intentended to perpetuate the problem.
Today I'm not over it. I never will be. I want them all to contract a horrible disease. I want them to fight it for their lives with everything they have, I want them to impoverish themselves and their children and suffer for years with the hope of recovery only to have the hope dashed in the end, but not before they see their own children suffer and die a horrible death before their eyes, while totally helpless to change or impact their inevitable fate in any way.
I don't want to see them dead. I want to watch them die and I want them to know I'm enjoying every second of their suffering and will celebrate the day of their death.
Some would say I should forgive, but that would only make me a party to my own abuse. I hope one day to be able to forget, but I know I'll have another panic attack or flip out because someone uses the wrong word combination and I'll remember the thousands of times I was beset by individuals and groups who were hurting me for their pleasure, their enjoyment and the hate will rise up again.
I can't read stories about bullying, or watch documentaries about it or anything like that because they're triggers. Today I'm trying to focus on the good things in life while all the moments of terror, subjugation, despair and heartache play over and over in the theater of my mind.