Yes, you. No, not the stranger on the corner. No, not the dude with the bible. No man, not the woman with the blonde hair in the cute hat with ears. I'm talking to YOU.
Do you know who you are? You're the guy that fucked over my mind. You're the guy who mocked me in school. You're the asshole who's responsible for my view of all your kind. And you know what? I'm not okay with that.
You think I want an apology? I wouldn't accept it, even if I thought you were sincere.
You think I want blood? I'd just end up as another crazy serial killer, or the subject of some TV real-life drama.
You think I want to destroy you utterly, because I'm jealous that you made it, and I didn't? How did you make it? How's that millionaire thing comin' along, sport? Oh right, YOU'RE NOT A MILLIONAIRE. You're just as much of a screw-up as I am. Maybe more of one. I'm not jealous because you grew up and I didn't. I'm not jealous because you're waist-deep in the varying grotesqueries of this world, and I'm not. I'm not even jealous that your job brings you money. After all the bills, I'm surprised you have any left!
So what do I want? Why am I writing you, this anonymous gestalt of all my secondary-school tormentors, an open letter on the internet? Because it's been 20 years. 20 years ago, my first term of secondary school was just about up. And I learned the harsh lesson that I know to this day. People suck. And you taught me that. You taught me that the vast majority of this planet isn't fit to lick the dirt from my shoes, though they think precisely the opposite.
You taught me that there is no intrinsic value in trying to gain friendships, because I'll always be betrayed.
You taught me, that knowing words, and having feelings, and being who I am, is a waste of time. You taught me that the gays are reprehensible, and football is king, and that cars are all there is.
You taught me that my voice is stupid, and that my mannerisms are comical
You taught me that all my coping mechanisms were fodder for your amusement.
I'd say Fuck you, but that Isn't strong enough. Hell, I'd TAKE the blood, but it'd never be enough. And when you, my gestalt secondary-school adversary, were gone, what would stop me from going after the trolls of the internet that taught me that I can't escape dickishness? And from there, anyone who'd ever shouted at me in the street? Anyone who looked at me strangely? Anyone who WASN'T ME? No, If I start down that road, I'll never stop.
So take a look. I have a heapin' helpin' of forgiveness on this table right here. But this is as close as you're ever going to get to it. Because I'm paying it forward. Instead of wasting my forgiveness on you, who'd do it all over again in a heartbeat, I'm giving my forgiveness to teenagers who ended up outside school.
So enjoy your life: Screaming kids, demanding boss, nagging wife. I wish you a long and prosperous working career. I got off lightly. You're gonna suffer way more than I ever did.