A letter for my teachers
To my teachers in primary school, I am sorry.
I am sorry, because you, my teachers, could not see my pain. The pain of the my bruises, left by my classmates. The pain of my loneliness, for who would be the friend of that kid? The pain in my soul, as the teasing gripped me and ripped my self-esteem apart.
I am sorry you could not see this, for you did not want to see.
Why, my teachers, could you not see? "Could do better," you said, as my grades began to slip. "Needs to interact more in class," you said, as I withdrew from the world. "Stays apart from the others," you said.
You never asked why.
I am sorry for your blindness, your optimism that led you to believe that bullying was not a problem in your school.
Under your tutelage I changed from someone who liked learning, who wanted to be part of the class, into someone who tried to be quiet, unnoticed, a nothing. After all, that's what the other kids thought I was. A nothing who could not be seen.
I'm sorry you could not see that.
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