Today, on my walk to the train station, I thought about why I got a purple shirt to wear today. I wanted to know what I would say if someone asked me why I was wearing purple, if they asked me if I was gay, or I don’t know what. I started mentally preparing myself for the worst, and I have a great imagination, so when I imagine the worst, it’s bad.

It’s complicated. There was this Facebook initiative to wear purple today. Why did I wear purple? I suppose, unlike other holidays, celebrations, observances, and remembrances something about this grabbed my attention. What does it mean to me?

I decided this morning that my reason for wearing purple was because “I’m a bullying survivor.” I think I was lucky, probably. I mean, as a kid I was short and skinny, didn’t have a lot of friends, talked a lot, didn’t do very well in school, was generally uninterested in sports, read a lot, had lots of odd hobbies, liked to be by myself … I wasn’t bullied a lot, actually. Just enough to make sure I knew I was different.

I remember a kid who got on my case one time after P.E. in middle school. I told him to get his “ugly mug” out of my face, and he shoved me, and demanded to know what a “mug” was. He started laughing at me like I was stupid, and I think then I felt pity for a bully for the first time in my life. Weird, introspective day.