I am weak. I am stupid. I am unhappy. I am whatever cliche's they call bullies so that young, innocent kids don't become one of them.
But I am a bully. I get pleasure from other people's discomfort. It makes me happy to see someone blush, to know that they feel defenseless and worthless, all because of me. I like to know that they know I am better than them, that I am superior.
I'm sick. I'm twisted. I have a power complex.
But I'm just a teenager. I laugh a lot. I have an odd obsession with Stitches and reversible sweatshirts. I have 94 people on my MSN friends list, which I comment on often. I'm normal, really. But I am a bully. And I know it.
I'm not even trying to hide the fact that I'm mean and blunt. In fact, I'm kind of bragging about it. I'm a bully. And I don't really care.
I'm not one of those odd, twisted stories, where I was bullied as a kid and so I became one. No, no, no. Ever since I was little, I've been gorgeous, bright and fun. Sure, I don't like listening to others and dominance just radiates from me, but I wasn't really expecting to become what I am.
It's getting worse, I must admit, lately. Maybe its spring fever. I've been irritable, and when I'm irritable, I go after anyone.
In fact, the other day I completely shut down one of my best friends, Theresa. She sat across the table from me, speechless, and I smirked superiorly. I had won. When people's faces fall, it just boosts my self esteem another notch. Gorgeous. I'm unstoppable. The more people hate me, the more irritable I become, the more people I bully, the more confident I become. It's a gorgeous, gorgeous cycle.
I do have low self esteem. Come on, bring it on! I do! Why do you think I'm so rude and cutting and selfish? Because I think lowly about myself, and bringing people down to my level makes me feel better. Like how some people play a sport to make them feel better, read, write, whatever, bullying others makes me . . . happy.
While we're on the subject of writing, I don't think I'm so good at it. I haven't practiced much. But I do what I can, I do what I can.
I don't care . . . What you think about me.
It kind of feels like a disease. I don't want to change, but I think I'll have to.
And this was the first step.
