The guilt over being a bully always managed to catch up to me. It was usually at night, when our group was separated, and it was only me left with my musings. The pain, the humiliation, and the losses got so heavy—too heavy to bear, to wield. It was my only weapon, though. How does one give up the only thing that keeps you strong?
Even now, in the stillness of night, with only the ticking clock to break the silence, I get overwhelmed. I remember listening in the dark and I remember my fear. Worse, I remember my relief when it was someone else. I also recall the guilt that crossed swords with that relief. How dare I feel a measure of comfort over somebody else’s distress? What kind of a person did that make me?
A survivor. It made me a survivor.
* * * *
It’s been a very quiet Friday, bu
