My closest friend insists that I have the capacity for kindness. He argues that I always lent a hand to those who reached out. While it’s true I had my moments of compassion during college, I was also a quintessential mean girl—a true Queen Bee. I thrived on creating drama and publicly tearing others down, often turning their misfortunes into sources of entertainment. I deeply regret every instance of it.
Yes, I could be kind, but I was also a ruthless bully, armed with sharp wit and loyal friends. I remember when the campus prom queen publicly mocked a classmate by asking if he picked up his accent at the duty-free shop in Heathrow. I slunk away in shame, realizing that my husband was right when he said, “He probably still thinks about that at night.” It was laughable, but at the cost of someone’s dignity—especially considering that this person was already grappling with personal issues. Everyone around us reveled in it.
Seeking Attention Through Meanness
I craved attention. I wanted to be noticed and liked, and one simple way to achieve that was by targeting easy victims. A prime target was a former beauty queen who had fallen into a downward spiral of promiscuity and alcohol. I eagerly spread rumors about her escapades, like the time she allegedly caught a sexually transmitted infection during a wild night. I reveled in the gossip, forgetting that she needed support, not scorn. I think she eventually dropped out, and I did nothing to help her—only used her struggles to divert attention to myself.
My best friend once remarked, “You would go after anyone you feared might outshine you.” This included a guy who dressed in a pink bunny suit and another who harbored a crush on me, known as “Punk Rock Guy.” I would hide under my bed when I heard him approaching, all for a laugh.
The Dark Side of Laughter
The laughter I received from others was never directed at me. I transformed from an invisible high school outcast into the ruthless mean girl everyone knew. However, my old insecurities never left. If I could target someone else, I believed I could deflect attention from my own flaws. By making fun of the beauty queen’s choices, I could avoid scrutiny of my own promiscuous behavior. I would ridicule the kid who pretended to be a vampire, ensuring that my own wild actions went unnoticed.
One particular incident stands out in my memory: a shy freshman who wandered into our dorm, hoping to make friends. He made the mistake of bragging about his supposed wealth from Charleston. Having grown up around affluence, I took pleasure in leading him on, watching as he dug himself deeper into embarrassment. An hour later, he left humiliated, never to return. I could have guided him, could have offered friendship and acceptance, but instead, I opted for cheap laughs at his expense.
Acknowledgment of My Actions
I realize now that I chose laughter over compassion. I was desperate for attention, fearful that others would judge me as harshly as I judged them. I could have shown kindness to the beauty queen or offered support to Punk Rock Guy. I had the chance to rise above my self-loathing but failed to do so. My psychological issues do not excuse the pain I inflicted on others. I can’t help but wonder how deeply my words impacted those around me. Maybe my thoughtless comments caused lasting hurt, even if I don’t recall them.
To everyone I encountered in college—those who I hurt and belittled—I’ve grown and I’m genuinely sorry. This apology may not mean much now, but it comes from a place of humility. I was a mean girl, and while I might not recall every good moment we shared, the memories of my cruelty are etched in my mind. I truly regret it.
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