Dear Mean Girl,

You thought I was the perfect target. You thought I wouldn’t fight back. You thought I was nothing. I’m here to tell you that you were wrong. Just like you were wrong to bully me all those years.

I was innocent. I was the nice girl with lots of friends. I never did anything mean to you.

Why was it me that got teased at recess or whispered about in the hallways? Why did my friends start vanishing, only to reappear at your side? Why did no one stand up for or believe me?

All of these questions continue to haunt me to this very day, as a twenty-year-old college junior sitting in dorm room typing this on her laptop. Even worse still, I tend to wonder: Why didn’t I stand up for myself? I mean, sure I tried to. I tried to tell you to stop or leave me alone, but all you did was laugh in my face or scream profanities at me.

For seven years you tormented me. Well you, and whatever sidechick you had present during the daily verbal beatings I would take. Sometimes I wish you had hit me. Though threatening to bring a brick to school and bash my head in with it at the ripe age of nine was about as close as it was going to get.

The stares, pointed fingers and whispers only got worse as we got older. Slowly but surely, my friends went to join your army. And I was left all by my lonesome. Rumors soon became your weapon of choice, but turning my friends against me was your favorite pastime. It sucked not having anyone to turn to, and when adults favored your side of the story over mine, eventually I stopped talking about it altogether.

I remember one of the last times I was hurt by you. I was in tenth grade, and you and another girl had bullied me over text, calling me a b*tch and a whole slew of other horrible names. I told my mother about it, and we went over to your house for what I thought would be our final showdown. You cried apologetically and I believed you. I’m the nice one remember?

I was forced to be civil with you during the rest of our high school years since we had the shared extra-curricular of marching band, which–much to my dismay­–involved countless mornings, afternoons and evenings together. We also shared my best friend. That’s the only reason I stuck around–because I didn’t want to hurt her. But she hurt me by never standing up for me when she witnessed you bullying me.

While I may not be able to forgive or forget what you did and said to me, I can tell you that I’ve moved on. And I couldn’t be happier where I am–because you’re nowhere to be found.

Sincerely,

The Nice One