A few weeks ago, I received a Facebook friend request. In many ways, it was like any other request that has flowed through my feed over the years: acquaintances of old reach out to rekindle the bonds of friendship, recent connections let their curiosity get the better of them, or a friend of a friend of a friend thinks we might hit it off. However, this most recent request stopped me in my tracks, teleporting me back to a time that left a smudge on my emotions and clung to me like the stench of decay. 

Sometimes blasts from the past aren’t such a good thing.

Growing up, I was often teased about my looks. On second thought, “teased” is putting it too kindly; tormented is a better word. In high school, that tormenting turned into vicious, soul-crushing bullying.

The person who wanted to be Facebook friends with me was my bully.

I say “my bully” not to embrace the destructive connection we had, but to acknowledge it. He—and others like him—put me through hell and, in some ways, helped to form the woman I would eventually become. Their taunting, intimidation and cruelty broke me down, but eventually I rose above it and overcame it all. Despite it all.

My reaction to seeing my bully’s name was visceral. It came at a time when I was already going through a personal storm that was pummeling me into exhaustion. Seeing his name was just one more brick to heap upon my already overladen back. The memories assaulted me and took my breath away. Just like I had done—too many times to count—all those years ago, on that day I cried.

Way back when, the bystanders (some of whom were my friends) who witnessed the mental torture that beat me down merely smiled uncomfortably, feigned obliviousness, or looked the other way. I wasn’t strong enough to stand up for myself and, sadly, no one intervened on my behalf. I became an angry child, shifting into myself and afraid to open up to anyone. To mask my pain, I began to act out. I skipped classes in school. I snuck out of the house at night. I was on the verge of becoming a true juvenile delinquent. My parents watched helplessly as their fourth child morphed from a fun-loving kid into a wild-child that they barely knew. My behavior got so bad that they took me to see a child psychologist to find out what the hell was wrong with me. I didn’t tell them about the bullying. I never told the psychologist, either; I made up a tall tale about being stifled and needing to discover who I was. Yeah, a 15-year old suffering from teenage angst.

This is how childhood bullying affects a person.

My tormentor may have thought he was simply teasing a young, awkward girl with big eyes who only wanted to fit in, but what he was really doing was tearing me down with every word spit from his mouth, ripping me to shreds with every scorn-laced chuckle, digging into the wounds with every nasty gesture he made. I was the unwitting star of the show as the audience watched and laughed along with him. I wanted to smash him in the face with my bare hands (or a 2×4) until he was battered, bruised, bloody and pleading for mercy. He took me to a dark place.

The thing about bullies is that they’re swathed in a form-fitting cloak of ignorance and they wear it well. They have an over-inflated view of their superiority, their worth, their self, yet they fail to see what is glaringly obvious: their own shortcomings and weaknesses.

Today, as a midlife woman, I’m stronger than I was 40 years ago. I use that strength to get me through the storms of life, to stand up for myself and to make my voice heard. I’ve become emboldened, confident and sure of myself. I’m not ashamed to say I’m proud of the woman I’ve become. Still, I cried when that bully from my past resurfaced in my present.

This is how childhood bullying stays with a person.

The bullies of yesterday grow up to be the specters that haunt us today. It would be nice to think that these bullies grow into remorseful adults who realize the damage and pain their callousness caused. Perhaps the shoe is on the other foot and they’ve had to deal with someone bullying their kids. Perhaps. However, it’s more likely that childhood bullies grow up to be adult bullies.

Do I understand what the children of today are going through when they’re bullied? Sadly, I do. I know their pain, I identify with their torture, and I have relived their helplessness time and time again.

How many of us are living with the remnants of a bully’s unwanted attention? Maturing and the passage of time doesn’t stop the pain — it only lessens the impact.

Bullying is never, ever okay. When you see someone being bullied, say something. Do something. Tell someone. Intervene, if you have to. Just don’t be a bystander.

By the way, I never did accept that Facebook friend request from my childhood bully. A long time ago, someone once said, “let bygones be bygones.” Perhaps…in another time and place. Today, however, it’s a tough pill for me to swallow. Still, I’m leaning on my strength to get through and overcome my childhood bully.