My first serious bully was my elementary school principal. Then his wife got in on the act. They were horrible. The other kids - some were bullies, but their efforts paled into comparison against the principal and his wife.
High school - I was bullied constantly, I still have scars on my legs from being kicked. I was put into counselling because of self-esteem issues. The counselling was useless. Worse than useless. No CBT in those days. And why was I the one in counselling and not the bullies?
Another high school - no bullies. They were there, but I had no problems. So it helped me realise - it wasn't me, after all. Or maybe the level of bullying at the second high school was just so weak compared to the purgatory I had endured.
School reunions - my second high school has had three reunions, I went to them all. One girl who was a bit mean to me, was very nice and chatty, we sat together and I was surprised how well we got on. I still don't know why she was such a toad to me but again - it was minimal compared to what I used to cop.
My first high school - I was approached about a reunion. I declined, explaining that I did not need to re-visit PTSD.
About a year ago, I was contacted by a classmate from my elementary school, wanting to organise a reunion. It was an email unfortunately couched in terms of "Let's get together and remember all those wonderful times."
I emailed back and said that with that premise, nobody would come. I suggested an alternative - "Let's get together and compare therapy stories, for all the damage our principal and his wife did."
Sadly, although my former classmate agreed with me, he did not change the wording of his announcement and the reunion never happened, for lack of numbers. We even had a few teachers planning on coming along, the ones who had always helped pick up the pieces after the principal visited the classroom. I did get the chance to share a few stories and mentioned one particular incident that has haunted me - I was not the focus, another boy was. I have changed his name, but he had a surname with a word in it like "moron". Jack Moroni, if you will. He had forgotten to bring his homework for the principal's class, and the principal made him stand out the front of the class and read aloud, from the dictionary, the definition of "moron".
My classmate immediately emailed me back, said he was in close contact with Jack Moroni, they were neighbours. He talked to Jack about it and they remembered the incident, were surprised I did (and had been so affected by it) and in return, they commented that in their recollection, I was commonly a target for that odious man and his loathsome harpy wife. I found sharing these emails to be very therapeutic and really looked forward to a mutual witch session at the reunion; sadly, it was not to be. I think too many of us had been too badly hurt.
I always dreamed of hunting that man down and confronting him with my eventual success. Or something. Then I envisioned him in a nursing home somewhere as a drooling idiot ("read THAT out of the dictionary, you *^^)^!!!") and realised that there would never be any point. There are healthier ways to get revenge. Success, for example.
That evil man and his wife tortured all of us purely for his own pleasure, and seemingly in the belief that it would make us stronger. It didn't, it caused deep wounds. They would encourage and enable other kids to bully those of us who were their targets, and endorse and arm these child-bullies with as much ammunition as they could think of. I remember the principal's wife (she took our class for sewing once a week) actually teaching these other kids new words to call me. In class. In front of everybody.
Maybe that is what set me up for the physical abuse I copped in my first high school - I already greeted the world with hunched shoulders and a posture akin to a whipped dog.
I suspect husband may have a few comments here on bullying - he also was physically beaten and two totally different techniques worked for him - one day he 'played dead' and scared the kid who had hit him into believing he had seriously injured him. And another time as husband described, he "rose up like Lazarus" and beat the living snot out of the bully, who never touched him again. Apparently, the other kids had to drag husband off the other boy, it took a lot of force. Word got around after that - don't mess with the sleeping tiger!
Why was I such a target for my principal and his wife? Looking back now, I think it was because I was bright. He felt threatened and needed to bring me down a peg or two, he thought. And she did whatever her husband authorised, and did it with great enjoyment.
I still want to track down that nursing home...
Marg