A letter to … the boy on the bus who said I was ugly

Years ago, I was travelling home on the bus from college with a group of friends. After the last of my friends had gone, I heard you and your friend, at the back of the vehicle, discussing how ugly you thought I looked.

You proclaimed loudly that I was possibly the ugliest person you had ever had the misfortune to set eyes on, that every ounce of your body was repulsed, and that this observation gave you an intense desire to physically hurt me. You said you would rape me, if only you could find me attractive enough.

I remember my face flaming with embarrassment, my heart pounding against my chest in fear, and my tears threatening to shame me further. I was already suffering from depression and anxiety, brought on through years of abuse at the hands of my parents, which had rendered me brutally oversensitive to criticism. I wanted to confront you, to defend myself, but how could I? I was a shocked young girl who couldn’t believe that all her worst fears about herself were being realised, through the voice of a stranger on a bus.

You finally got off two stops before my own, for which I felt relieved. You and your friend, who was mostly silent but helpfully nodding and laughing at all your observations, gave me one final look of disgust, then left the bus. As you passed the window next to me, you knocked loudly and spat at me. I would never see you again – yet our brief meeting would linger in my memory for years to come.

I have often wondered what I had done to deserve your reactions that day. I have asked many friends, posted on many forums, and told this story to strangers in the hope of an answer. The truth is, it had nothing to do with me; whatever the reason for your outburst that day, and the hatred with which you shamed my body, it was because there was something in your life that was making you terribly unhappy. You appeared young, yet inexplicably hateful. The small town through which we were travelling was renowned for being troubled; there were areas of great deprivation and crime, and I supposed that perhaps you had witnessed something terrible. I imagined that maybe your parents, or family members, were being abusive towards you or others, and you wanted to offload that pain. Maybe you were the victim of bullying by your peers. Whatever the case, I felt your hurt that day, and it hurt me greatly.

To you now, wherever you may be and whoever you may have become, I would like to express that which I could not bring myself to that day: I believe I am a good person – flawed, but constantly striving to be the most compassionate human I can be. Your comments hurt me, because I was vulnerable enough to believe them. I am not that person any more, and now my shame has passed, I see you – a hurting young man in desperate need of attention and support. Thank you for teaching me that when we allow ourselves to be hurt, we risk taking this out on other innocent people – because of you, I will always pay extra attention to ensure that my own turmoil does not become a weapon I use against others.

Finally, and most importantly, I wish you peace, happiness and forgiveness, and hope that this world has shown you true loving kindness – so that you may now appreciate the value of humanity.