Bullies, violent criminals, teenage runaways, drug addicts.
When I was a teenager, I had to go to what I will call a "behavioral unit." My parents’ messy divorce was the catalyst for my Bipolar, and I was a mess. My mom admitted me so I could get a sense of what was going on, and get on medications and learn coping skills for my anger and suicidal tendencies.
While I was there, I got to know teenagers just like me, and some completely different from me. At night, new kids would be brought in, completely high, and taken to solitary to sober up before they could join the rest of us.
Kids arrested for assault were also brought in, in addition to, or a substitution for, going to juvenile hall.
Everyone was always so tough. So cruel to people outside, and within, especially when they first got there. They pretended to be apathetic about their parents’ struggles, or that of their victims.
Every night, though, we had to go to "Relaxation." It was a dark room, with windows that opened up. We could see the fireworks from Disneyland through them. We would listen to mellow music. We could sit in there as long as we wanted, until we were ready for bed.
All of these bullies who acted so tough would cry in the dark, because nobody could see them, and there was no way to tell who it was that was crying.
I won't be too mean to anyone here, because I'm willing to bet that those of you with vicious socks, those of you who stalk posters just to insult them, or make them feel bad...
You're crying too. We just can't see it.
I didn't post this directly on the Soapbox, because I'd get a whole bunch of "LOL YOU WERE ADMITTED" or "tl;dr" from the trolls this post addresses, and I really didn't feel like giving them the pleasure.