…I am starting to find some confidence with my anger.

My seven year-old daughter is being bullied at school. Going to reserve comments on the other kid since who the hell knows if this will escalate into a legal matter or what. But it fucking sucks.

I was bullied pretty bad back in middle school. Pretty sure the reason was they thought I was gay, but then again, it might just be ’cause I was fat. Or maybe it’s because it happened in Pasadena, MD, a total shithole of a town where hope goes to die.

I remember being spat on by a series of kids I didn’t recognize before getting on the bus to go home, and internalizing all of it, thinking I must have done something wrong and feeling totally helpless. I was crushed to the point of inaction.

As an adult, I still find myself constantly shrinking into a scared 12 year-old, thinking the best thing to do when facing real struggle is to avoid “drama” and hope the problem goes away.

I owe my daughter far more than that. I don’t want to let her down.

Fortunately, my wife is vindictive, merciless, and never forgets a slight – and she sure as shit doesn’t forgive.

I’m not sure what happens next, but it isn’t gonna be silence. I have a partner to keep me in check. And we have some work to do.

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…I’m not currently holding any grudges.

I have at least two uncles that, for reasons not entirely clear to me, no longer speak to my father. And by extension, the rest of my immediate family.

My father in turn refuses to speak to them and has given me little or no information about these feuds, so all I know comes from the half-speculative threads my siblings have tried to explain to me. The best I can understand is that one feud comes out of pride and disrespect (both legit and projected), and the other is pretty much just Trump. Can’t really do much about that second one. That guy really broke people’s brains. Pick a better savior, guys.

But all that’s to say that there’s probably like a 99% chance my uncles have already said the last thing to me they’ll ever say. One of them hasn’t spoken to me in well over ten years, and due to basic geography I’m probably not going to be anywhere near either of them anytime soon.

I’m a very specific kind of sad about this. I like my uncles as well as anybody does, but I was also not very close to them to begin with, so I’m not heartbroken or hurt. I feel sad the way I do when I read a tragic story in the news. My heart breaks for the strangers they have become.

And then I take stock of my own life and any anger I’m feeling and I remind myself: none of that shit’s worth it. Life’s fucking fine, alright? Depression and all. I’ve got no reason to shun anyone.

Maybe my reason for getting out of bed each day is specifically to fight off the urge to isolate. I’ll keep at it, then.

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