A Human Experience

Prologue

I was bullied in high school.

That seems like such an easy sentence to just throw out. Or, at least, it seems like it should be. It has, after all, been nearly three years since the reality of the bullying supposedly ceased with the cessation of high school itself.

But reality is never quite as clear cut as it seems, is it?

Bullying isn't just about the hits, the slaps, the dumpster dives and the slushies. It's not just about the bruises and the scrapes. It's the words and the feelings, the constant little attacks at one's self-esteem. It's about being told every single day that you aren't good enough.

You can go into it strong. You can swear that it is never going to get to you. Yet, if enough people knock you down, if there's no one there that really cares enough to refute those cruel words, if you're exposed to this negativity day in and day out through the entirety of your formative years, you don't escape unchanged.

For me, I think, it's more accurate to argue that you don't escape unscathed.

It's a small distinction, but it has absolutely huge consequences.

I should be alright, after all. I'm independent. I don't need a man. I'm happy not being totally dependent on somebody else. I am the master of my own destiny. I'm not going to conform to societal pressure and throw myself into behaving in a certain way because that is what everyone insists I do.

That is what I told everybody.

But that didn't make being me any less of a lonely endeavour. I just could not relate to people.

I tried, I really did. However, at that moment, it seemed like I truly never would be happy. It seemed like I was doomed to forever be the single boy that a few sympathetic people tolerate.

It wasn't as bad, back when we were all young and fresh out of high school. Relationships then were often transient. People became involved with a significant other, but those relationships turning into lasting entities where the two people were fused into one unit was the exception rather than the rule.

I had some 'friends', and that was at a time in our lives when it was acceptable for one to spend inordinate amounts of time in the company of friends.

And so, I kidded myself into believing that everything was alright, that I was 'ok'. I held on to this belief that at some point, magically, I would meet the right person, and fall into a relationship with them. I didn't expect the relationship to be something out of a fairy-tale. All I really craved was a human relationship. I craved feelings - feelings of love, trust, warmth and hope. However, I was willing to accept with this everything that comes as part of the human experience. I was willing to accept uncertainty, anger, sorrow, even heartbreak. I just wanted to experience what it felt like to be normal.

I waited. I waited for this development that never came. I wanted to desperately to be normal. I continued to espouse the idea that I was independent, that nothing could touch me, and that I felt no need whatsoever to be in a relationship.

Yet, as time went on, more and more of my friends "met the right person" and fell into these wonderful, real, committed relationships with significant others. This happened more and more, until, one day, I was the only single one left.

At that point, though I tried to maintain my façade, I began to find myself forced to face reality. I was twenty-one. Not only was I the only single person in my group of friends, I had never, not once, been in a relationship. Nor had I ever even shared a mutual kiss with another human being. Even hugs went beyond me, and I found myself having to hold in my feelings of shock when I experienced even the smallest amount of physical contact.

That was probably when I began to realise that my façade, the mask of indifference that I had portrayed to the world for years, had become fused to part of my. Regardless of what I might want, in my dreams, I had become used to being this 'not-quite-person' that was ever-so-slightly removed from the world. I found that I had no real relationships with people, beyond friendships. The problem with this was, of course, that all of my 'friends' now had significant others, to whom they would always feel a much stronger connection than they ever felt to me.

So, the feelings of loneliness increased, and I was forced to face the reality that I was alone, and I was not the same as everyone else – perhaps less deserving of love. This had become fused to my mask of indifference, creating something of a self-perpetuating cycle.

Not only had I been told all through high-school that I was worth less than many of the people I came into contact with, now I was confirming it with my own behaviour and experience in adult life.

So, you see, it wasn't so much about any physical scars from that bullying. It was about the emotional scars. The emotional scars ran much deeper. I had carried that baggage with me though the three years after the great formative experience that is high school had ceased. I had tried to build up my life as something that I was happy with. And yet, those cruel words and those feelings of insignificance dwelt there, just waiting for the smallest reminder to dredge them up. Neon flashing lights would then remind me that, no matter how hard I tried, I would never be good enough.

I got to the point where I would buy soft toys, and lie in bed at night grasping at them. I would hold on to them so hard, as if with just a little more pressure I could somehow turn them into something more real, something more tangible, something capable of offering me that small amount of human contact that I so desperately desired. On the brink of sleep I would even begin to fabricate stories in my head. These stories were of a charming young man that I would meet some time in the future, with whom I would fall hopelessly in love.

It is interesting now to consider that these stories always involved me being thrown together with the mythical 'him' by pure chance. We never chose to meet; we simply could not escape each other's company until we had fallen in love. Often these situations were those we could only envisage right on the brink of sleep – ranging from "a personal growth course with assigned partners", to a prisoner of war camp, to a post-apocalyptic world where everyone was forced to live in gigantic metal boxes. The theme, however, was always the same – somebody wanted me.

Now, however, I think that there may have been another implicit theme – nobody would want me voluntarily.

It would take a lot more than imagination for me to overcome the scars of high school. It would take something that I would not have ever imagined to be possible to drag me out of this funk. Breaking down my strongly crafted walls of defence, deconstructing my "independence", would take time and caring that I never would have even fantasised about.

It turns out - it is never possible to completely escape your high school experiences. For better, or for worse, they shape you. High school contributes to who you are.

However, you are still your own person, and destiny is by no means tied entirely to your high school experience. Everyone has so much more life to experience.

For me, it took an unbelievable experience to help me overcome the past and see the bigger picture. I'm telling my story now in the hopes of inspiring you, whenever the world truly seems hopeless. I hope to inspire you to believe that there is something bigger out there for all of us to experience. This experience can be good or bad, but it is human, and it is the capacity to feel that makes life worth living.

My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my story.