Memoirs of a Bullied Kid

I was a bewildered bullied person in middle school too.  I can't tell you the fear I felt as my boys were heading off to middle school.  

My youngest found some wisdom that I wish I had had then.   He told me that when a bully calls him a name he just looks at them and says "Well, now we have two things in common." and then walks away. 

I was bullied to one extent or another throughout my middle and high school years. One kid called me "jelly roll" all the time in middle school. Popular boys would feign interest in me, only to laugh at me later. When I came out as bisexual in high school, and was talking about it with a friend during class, one boy leveled an evil eye on me and said, "There are too many faggots at this school." I was never physically harmed (though I was threatened once in middle school because a girl didn't want to share her instrument locker with me in band...and another time in high school a boy that always picked on me kept swerving his giant car toward me after leaving a dance, I sped up to avoid him and was pulled over and ticketed for speeding), but the words always cut just as deep. My weight, my sexuality, my lack of conformity (I tended to run with the "freak" crowds), all were fair game. 

The odd thing is that before all of this, in fourth grade, I was the bully one year. We moved around a lot, and in fourth grade I wound up at a school that, I can only assume in retrospect, was in kind of an unfortunate neighborhood. I fell in with the wrong crowd of girls, who were bullies. I don't remember their names, but I do remember the first name of the girl we picked on the most. I remember we cornered her in the bathroom once and they were physically threatening her. I kicked her lunch box, wanting to look tough for my friends, but not wanting to hurt her because somewhere deep down I remembered that this was not who I was. I was mean to that girl because if I wasn't mean to her, the girls I hung with would be mean to me. I was also bullied during this time and was pushed into a climbing structure by a boy in my class and hurt my back. When I went to the teacher (who was never kind to me), she did nothing about it. I received detention from that teacher one day, as well, for some reason I don't remember, and I had to go to the bathroom, but she wouldn't let me. I peed in my seat. On the other hand, I can look back at that teacher, and even though she wasn't a great teacher, I imagine that the time I called a boy in my class who was mean to me a "nigger" may have had something to do with her attitude toward me, since she was also black. I didn't even really know what the word meant, I just knew it was a bad word to call black people, and that day I wanted to call that boy who was mean to me a bad word. I think that's about when my mom started to realize things were going horribly wrong for me because I still remember the stern and worried conversation she had with me about that word that day.

The saddest and most humbling moment in that whole horrible year was when I fell off the monkey bars and twisted my ankle. It was a bit of a walk back to the classroom, but when I asked for help from my "friends" they laughed and left me there. The girl that we always picked on the most, on the other hand, along with another boy that probably wasn't exactly popular, helped me. I remember feeling ashamed that I had treated this girl so badly and here she was helping me. I don't really remember if I stopped bullying her after this or not, all the memories of that time are a jumble and I don't remember the time line, but each snapshot is still vivid in its own right. Thankfully I left that school after that year and started over at a new one. I never bullied anyone ever again. I only wish I could apologize to that girl that I hurt all that time.

http://toriabipolar.blogspot.ca/2012/04/bullied-teens.html  Says a lot.

B2Momma, your description of how you were treated literally made me want to throw up. I remember all too well the "kids being kids" and "you're overreacting" crap. I often wonder how all our lives would have been different if someone had just listened to us.

...continued

My reaction to the rumors and bullying was to be as gay as possible.  When they called me names, I ramped it up.  I'd walk down the hall with books tucked under my arm with titles clearly displayed.  Things like, "Sappho was a Right-On Woman: A liberated view of lesbianism." and "Lesbian Nuns: Breaking Silence".  It had gotten to the point where, EVERY TIME I went to my locker, there was a piece of chewed gum (some lurid florescent green color-I have NO idea what flavor that even was.) Wrapped around the numbers on my combination lock, forcing me to peel off someone else's gross used gum.  One day, just before leaving for a field trip, I went to put my books in my locker only to find the combination lock super glued so it wouldn't move at all.  So, I got to the point where I could go through the week without going to my locker more than once or twice.  I also took up bringing Amyl Nitrate (poppers) to school.  At class change, I'd hurry to the bathroom, take a sniff in each nostril and then make a beeline for my next class.  This didn't stop the bullying, but it made me high for about 5 minutes, so I could make it to my next class without really hearing or caring what was being said.  The previous year, on the senior's last day of school, a friend of mine was punched by a guy he'd never spoken to because he was gay.  The rumor around school was that "they" were going to continue the "tradition" started that day & "beat up a queer" on the last day of school.  Since I was the most obvious target, I dropped out of school the day before school ended that year. 

I got my GED before the rest of my class graduated & even got a scholarship from my scores, but the bullying had taken a toll.  I dropped out with a 1.75 GPA when, through 8th grade I'd never gotten anything below a B.  High school was a horror at worst and an obstacle course at worst.  If it had been less hellish, maybe I'd have finished and gotten good grades and gotten a scholarship to a "good" school rather than a community college. After all, I scored more than 100 points over passing on my GED with my only preparation being 2 hours of sleep and 2 No Doze.  Maybe I'd have gone straight through school & not be trying to 'restart' my career, hoping to get my foot in the door at the Masters level at 42.  If my mom had been more supportive, maybe I wouldn't have been trying to support myself in a crappy apartment working at a minimum-wage job a month after my 17th birthday.  If I hadn't been kicked out of Drama III by the new drama teacher b/c I was reading a gay magazine and that made her nervous (ironically, it wasn't even mine-some straight girl had brought it to class) I might have not completely quit working in theater, something that I'd really loved and had hoped to do at some level for a long time.  (and yes, you read right-I was kicked out of DRAMA for being GAY.  Which is kind of like getting kicked off of the basketball team for being tall.)  And maybe I wouldn't have had to work so damn hard just to like myself. 

The one person in the whole damn mess who made it tolerable was the 9th grade English teacher I mentioned earlier.  When I met my current best friend, who should have been a Senior but who had dropped out, gotten her GED and was going to college, for the first time I thought of a GED as something other than failure.  So I asked her advice.  She said, "Mark Twain said, 'never let your schooling interfere with your education' and I think yours is.  As long as you don't waste it, I think it'd be a good choice for you."  I sent her an announcement when I got my Associates & my Bachelors.  By the time I got my Masters, she was retired. But I Googled her and mailed her an announcement and my thanks.  When I came out, she admitted she didn't know much about it but that she was willing to learn.  So I loaned her that copy of "Lesbian Nuns: Breaking Silence" that I had been carrying around under my arm...and she read it.  Honestly, she was my oasis in the sea of hell that was high school for me and she was probably largely responsible for the fact that I DIDN'T become suicidal or homicidal.  :)  So, publicly,  I'd like to say, thank you  MRS. GLENDA MISNER,  wherever you are.  You made a HUGE difference in my life when I needed it the most.  Everyone deserves someone like her.  Everyone NEEDS someone like her.  From supporting my love of books, to telling me that poetry didn't have to rhyme and then submitting my poem to the school district's writing publication to letting me know that I was still ok and that being a lesbian didn't change that, even when she didn't understand, she made the difference.

Make a difference.  I saw a quote today-to mark Holocaust Remembrance Day.  It said: 

“Thou shalt not be a victim, thou shalt not be a perpetrator, but, above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.” ― Yehuda Bauer

My small bit to try to help is that, a couple of days ago, I started a FB page.  It's called, "I survived bullying, you can too."  This article and this page is one of several that I've posted and "liked" to try to bring information and perspective to those who may need it. Check it out if you're so inclined.

And Dan-thanks so much for your candor.  I've only discovered this blog in the last week-but I'm constantly moved and amazed by your writing and insight.  Thanks for putting it out there.

My mom says I was bullied nearly from the beginning of my school years. I honestly don't remember specifics from that early.  I do remember feeling a bit of an outsider-I was in the "gifted" program, I had a "weird" name (I hated it, so, when I got married, I got rid of it),  I had trouble making friends. I joined the Brownies and basically left by mutual agreement-I didn't like them and they didn't like me-adults included.  I do remember once in 6th grade-I was in the first 6th grade class to be in the new thing called "Middle School" and it was kind of rough-some kids started harrassing me in the lunchroom.  One of the 8th graders came to my defense.  He was a good-sized guy, athletic, he ended up playing football in high school, and well-liked. I remember the guys who were harassing me asking him why he was defending me & he just looked at them and said, "Because she's my cousin & what you're doing is mean."  The bullies seemed quite confused by this, probably b/c he was Asian and I was pale, blonde & very white.  :)  Still, it's not like they deserved the explanation that he was Amer-Asian and his father and my mother were 1st cousins...it was enough that he stood up for me, whatever the reason.  I had one friend at a time until 8th grade.  In 8th grade I finally had a GROUP, a CLIQUE, and it was glorious.  In 8th grade I got glasses BECAUSE I was at least popular with someone.  The doctors said I didn't really need them but I explained that MY FRIENDS sat in the back of the classroom and, from there I couldn't read the board so I HAD to get glasses b/c NOT sitting with MY FRIENDS wasn't an option. I also joined the Girl Scouts again and this time, they liked me and I liked them.  While that was the last troop I ever belonged to, I remained a member of the Girl Scouts until I was 19.

Going into high school, I made a few decisions-first of all, I would stop using my first name and start using my middle name-Meredith.  Secondly, I was going to start hanging out with the "stoners" because then, the teachers wouldn't expect anything from me & I'd stop hearing things like, "You're so SMART, if you'd just apply yourself."  Of course, that only lasted until I couldn't keep my mouth shut & I asked a question or answered something and gave myself away.  I had gone to school somewhere different for 7th & 8th grade, so there were only a few people who remembered me from 6th grade or earlier, and that made it easier.  However, one of those people was my next door neighbor-a big kid who bullied me when he saw the opportunity-calling me stupid variations on my hated first name among other things.  I made some friends-actually, largely among the kids who WERE considered "stoners".  Honestly, though, it did turn out to be a good move b/c the ones I was drawn to were smart and a lot less judgmental than most kids.  Several of these people can still be found on my FB friends and, guess what?  They are all successful, well-educated people.  And true friends, through an awful lot.  :)  During the years I was gone, however, puberty had brought with it quite a bit of weight gain.  I was 5'4" and 205 lbs, so that became another thing I was targeted about. I was in Drama-something that gave some kids ammunition to give me a hard time & while I wasn't really close to most of my fellow choir/drama geeks, at least they were pretty cool overall.  I also had found a teacher who loved the fact that I loved to read & she gave me her home phone number so we could discuss books over the summer.  I only got a C in her class, but hey, that's what I earned.  ( I simply refused to diagram sentences).  :)  To this day she's one of my favorite teachers ever. 

The REAL, HARDCORE bullying started in 11th grade.  The first day of my Junior year, my mother kicked me out of the house for smoking cigarettes.  As a result, I went to school elsewhere while in placements for the first semester.  Also, my best friend's mom sent her away about the same time to get her away from the 29 year old man she was dating.  During the previous summer, she had forced me into admitting to myself (and her) that I liked girls.  She had 2 gay aunts & she later told me that one of the first things she 'knew' about me when we met in 9th grade was that I was gay.  Turns out she was right.  :)  However, that plus the fact of the two of us being gone for about the same length of time resulted in a LOT of rumors about us by the time we got back.  I did end up falling in love with her, and we tried to make a go of it for a few weeks before she got scared, stopped talking to me, and hid behind her "boyfriend".  Breaking my heart in the process & leaving me without anyone to really talk to about it.  So, all of this culminated in at least a dozen people a day, most of whom I didn't even know, calling me names as I walked down the hall & sailing paper airplanes at me in class that said, "dykeplane" in big letters.  And most of the teachers did nothing.  I did have one incident in a Science Fiction & Fantasy class that was taught in a sectioned-off part of the cafeteria.  The teacher knew that I was one of the few TRUE sci-fi fans-most of the rest being there only for what they figured was an easy English credit.  We sat at these long cafeteria tables.  Now, I'm left-handed and my seat was at the far right end of the table.  We had a book report due by the end of class & I had changed books mid-stream b/c the first one I'd picked had turned out to be too boring and long to get through, so I was furiously trying to write my report throughout class.  The boy next to me kept pushing my elbow while I was writing, causing me to mess up and have to erase & re-write several times.  The teacher addressed him several times to stop, but she didn't make him move so, as soon as she wasn't looking, he'd start again.  I tried moving away from him until I was occupying 6 inches at the far end of the table, but he would just scoot over & keep doing it.  Finally, I was fed up, so I calmly put my pencil down and backhanded him in the face.  He yelled in shock and outrage and his cronies started making comments like, "I wouldn't take that from that dyke!" At that point, the teacher, who I KNOW saw exactly what happened, told them all to be quiet and warned them not to call names.  Then she gave me this look like 'you're not going to take this any farther, right?' And I just tipped my head, picked up my pencil & finished my book report.  However, knowing that she saw what happened & that I'd tried to resolve it peacefully for quite a while and that I wasn't going to get in trouble for what I'd done b/c, frankly, he had it coming, allowed me to feel a little better. 

Continued...

I can remember to the day when I was 9 when the bullying started. It was 3rd grade. The first comment directed to me came from my then best friend. It never stopped, at least until I graduated from high school. Actually, it kind-of never has stopped. I went to college, and that's where I consider life as beginning, as first having real friends. For me, it was more the isolation factor that was hardest to deal with. I'm naturally introverted and very independent, so I don't need people around me as much as others. However, before the age of 18, I was completely isolated. I came from a small community, and I got the "smart kid" label. I was always the dork or the nerd. Ironically, I still consider myself to be a nerd, but now take pride in that state and use it as a piece of my identity. Growing up, that was the farthest from how I viewed that term.

I got invited to the movies, oh yes, but no one ever showed-up to meet me there (so since I had driven the 2 hours to the theatre I watched a movie myself). I was "elected" class vice-president, because I was the only one who ran for the position, and had to stand smiling while my peers asked, "Well, I know that the application was supposed to be turned in a week ago, but can't we nominate someone else now?" I was the one asked (by the guy I considered the biggest dork in our class) if I had a life and ever did anything outside of school other than study. I was the one who was class valedictorian and was supposed to give the speech at graduation, but then was voted down by my classmates who opted to give a group speech instead, but then wrote a 10 minute speech myself (because no one else took the initiative or was willing to help me) and divided it up into 12 different segments so each person had an equal portion of the speech to read, and then, on graduation day, stood quietly by as my classmates refused to speak (despite their names on the program) because I had written the speech and no one had thought to write an alternative. There were never tears, at least not in public. By high school there were even few tears in private. I didn't know what it meant to have a friend.

Middle school was my darkest period. I wore all black, listened to heavy metal and rock, and definitely was depressed. I would have considered suicide, but I knew it would upset my parents and it just seemed like too much effort, and no one would notice that I was gone anyhow. At least being there, they had a target to tease and I knew they noticed me. I never wanted the bullies to get hurt or die, I just wanted them to stop teasing me. I just wanted to fit in and be accepted. I just wanted to be loved, the way my classmates all loved and supported each other. I just didn't want to be marginalized. 

Freshman year of high school in about May I hit a turning point. I had progressed to the State Forensics competition at Madison. I remember that bus ride through Madison on our way to the UW Campus as though it was yesterday. It was a big city, a big college-town city. There were thousands and thousands of students, so many a single person could get lost and never noticed. There were green spaces and people playing frisbee and football on the lawns and grilling out in the spring weather. The campus was HUGE. There were so many buildings, so many classrooms, so many libraries. I fell in love and never looked back. I had one goal for the rest of high school: finish and go to college at Madison. If anyone asked, that was my goal. How was high school? Who cares. I still have a 4.0 so I can go to Madison in 3 years, 2 years, 1 year, 6 months. How did your college applications go? Who cares. I got accepted to Madison in November. Doesn't it upset you that your classmates refuse to speak to you or to give a graduation speech you wrote that they voted for? I have no emotions...you know in 2 hours I officially have my high school diploma which is the last requirement I have to meet before I can go to Madison.

I do have to say I think I survived middle and high school because of my teachers. They were always very kind and supportive to me. They let me come to their rooms and have special privileges during study halls and free periods, which probably didn't help with my peer-relationships, but at the same time removed me from the worst of the teasing. They supported my interests, gave me extra assignments to challenge me, and let me have a lot of freedom to study and learn. They appreciated and respected me, when no one else did. They encouraged me, and gave some small light to the dark hell that otherwise surrounded me. 

In college, for the first time in my life, it was cool to be smart. People wanted to be my friend so we could study together (and not just to copy the homework from my locker). People respected me for my abilities. One of my good friends from college described me once as a clam when we first met. She knew there was a lot there and a lot going on inside my head, but nothing, absolutely nothing came out of my mouth. It took me more than a year to comprehend that I could say things in a group and that people weren't going to tease me or hold it against me. People liked me for me...so maybe I should think about liking me for me as well. The rest of the world outside of the little "hole" I grew-up in actually appreciated intelligence and quick thinking.

I would like to say I am a recovered "bullied child", and I would also like to point out that kids are bullied for ANYTHING that makes them different, but I'm not sure how much recovery is possible. That time of my life is still a big, black blight on my past, and just thinking about it still makes me hurt. I am now a confident, happy and I think well-adjusted adult. I am always nice, especially to the bullied and the different and the shy people around me. I have my goals and my self-esteem, and I still say "to hell with whoever gets in my way." In some ways being bullied made me stronger, more assertive and more able to ignore negative opinions around me to achieve the goals I set for myself. At the same time, it left a constant unfulfilled desire to want to fit-in and be accepted. People around me still refer to high school as "the best years of your life". Hah. I've definitely had better, way better, and hope to have many more to come. I wish that I could reach-out to bullied kids and give them hope, to say I really do understand the hell you are living through, to be a friend and a mentor to help them survive the years until it gets better, to encourage them to succeed. I agree with Dan, reach-out and support the bullied around you, because so very little on your part can make such a dramatic difference to someone who feels as though they have nothing.

I went to Catholic school for 3 years. At first I don't remember having a lot of problems with the other kids. Then one day my teacher pulled me out of class and got in my face because I hadn't known you weren't supposed to go up for Eucharist if you hadn't been baptized and been through the First Communion ceremony. I remember having my back to the wall while she yelled at me. Shortly after the next mass, when I didn't go up, noticed kids weren't talking to me. Things were turned upside down at home cuz we'd just moved and then my parents were getting divorced within days of the move. I could have used a friend the most at that time. And everyone treated me like an alien, like something less than human, at school. I put on weight. Then the names came. "Hey, Elephant, when are you going to go on a diet?" I told the afterschool care teacher what happened and was told "Oh sweetie, just ignore them." That doesn't really stop them from saying it, and it doesn't stop you from hearing it. I had a girl who was as big as I was tell me I had a double chin and that I should work on it.

Girls invite me to a sleep over. We play truth or dare. I get dared to pick my nose and eat it. I face ridicule if I do and if I don't. I do it, they won't let me touch anything the rest of the night, even after washing my hands. I went downstairs away from them and played with the family cat until my mom came to get me the next day.

The worst was Lent in 4th grade. We had to set a goal for ourselves to meet every week, and if we did, we signed a piece of a heart. By Easter, the pieces would be put together and form the full heart. Someone wrote "Dork" and "idiot" next to my name. A classmate pointed it out to the teacher.The teacher tried for 20 minutes to find out who did it, then advised me to "Do the Christian thing and forgive." It felt like "It's not worth my time to find out who did it and punish them accordingly." I hid everything from my parents. My brother was already acting out, and mom was dealing with her own issues at the time. Dad had to move back in with my Grandmother and tried to spend as much time as he could with us, but he also had to work. They didn't see it.

My mom read a diary I was keeping later. It came to a point where all I would write was how I wanted to die. "If I jump out the window, it won't kill me, but how long will it take for them to notice I'm hurt? Probably days." I never acted on it, but it was there. I was asked "Why didn't you say anything?" and it felt like it was all my fault it happened, even though everything taught me saying something doesn't fix anything, no one cares.

I thought I'd gotten past it until it recently reared it's ugly head while I'm already struggling through veterinary school. The last few weeks have made me realize how much this hurt still clings to me and clouds up how I think of things and how I view people.

I was lucky. They wanted to put my brother on ritalin to control his outbursts. He didn't have ADD or ADHD. He did have learning disabilities that those drugs wouldn't help, only a different teaching style/environment would. So mom yanked us from the school. I was grateful, cuz I couldn't say I hated it. Not to anyone. I sometimes wonder if I would have turned into a bully myself or if I would have turned into one of the kids that have brought guns to school if I had stayed. Or if I would have actually acted on my several and varied plans to take my own life and not be here now if I hadn't been placed in a different school.

Dear Dan, I am sixteen years old, I am about to be a junior in high school. I wanted to share my story; when I was in the sixth grade I transferred to a new school in the middle of the year. I already had a reputation as my cousin’s nerdy fat cousin. I had one friend when I got there and left with only a few more. Toward the end of that year a large group or girls, it was six or seven started in they called me names. Particularly one of the ones they called me was “Michael Jackson” this I never understood until I asked my cousin. Where she replied simply it was my skin color. You see my race is white, but I have very dark skin. Because, technically I am mixed Native American and Irish Indian. So naturally I have dark skin. Why they called me this I never knew, all I knew is it didn’t stop. It got worse. I ignored them for some time, but it got worse when we got into the seventh grade. That is when they really started in; we were forced to sit at the same lunch table. We had to sit by class I had no friends at this table. It started with fowl looks and snarky comments. It increasingly got worse, where their names got worse. I had used school as a way to get away from my house, my mom had been in many abusive relationships where I watched people beat her constantly while I raised my younger brothers and sisters. I knew if I didn’t defend them no one would. It got to the point I hated going home, when I came to that school it got to the point I felt I had no way to escape. Because school as well was no help, many times I told the principals; nothing was ever done. Toward the middle of my seventh grade year they would corner me in the bathroom. Many times I was told that I was going to get beat up. That I was fat and ugly. My cousin who was always at my house, never gave me time to get over it; where she would corner me and tell me things like “You are ugly”, “You are fat”, “You have no friends”, “No one likes you, the only reason I am here is because of your mom”, “You are such a dork, you dress horribly maybe you should be like me and people would like you”. I hated it. The more she said it the more I believed it. At thirteen I was overdosing on pain killers. I would take the maximum dosage for twenty-four hours, double it and take it at once; often times more than once a day. In hopes that maybe one day it would stop the pain. Finally she stopped coming over, but my relationship with my mother continued to get worse to the point she threw a frying pan at my head. School got worse as well, when I had one of those girls in every one of my classes. It got to the point I was terrified to go into the bathroom, the girls made up new names, though my memory fails me now as to the exact terms. I knew I believed what they told me I went on this destructive path I overdosed, I clawed my skin until I bled, and I refused to sleep. It was only in the eighth grade that I told my mom, because when I defended myself it got so much worse. I hated school, I hated home, but I had nowhere else to go. My mother had to go up to the school; I filed harassment through the school and the police department, the school twice. To get one of the main two girls to stop. By the beginning of the eight grade it was about twenty girls, by the middle almost all of them had stopped. But all of it had left a harsh impact on me. I go back and look at my yearbooks for those years. I have colored over my picture in every one of them, because I never wanted to see my face. Once I had them stopped more started in, I hit high school and girls on my bus started in. Every afternoon would call me a slut, would tell me I was fat and ugly. Lately I have started to not care what people say, and I too can play my words. I chose to do so only when cornered. I know from experience running to a teachers; as we are told to do, does not help it makes it worse. To this day, I still struggle with self-esteem; I am still terrified to go into bathrooms. I cry when I look in my yearbooks, but I smile knowing I stopped clawing and popping pills. I find something to look forward to, because I still struggle to get out of bed every morning. Most of the time I don’t see the point; though I am getting better it still gets me every now and then. I know what to look for when someone is being bullied; I can tell when something is wrong. I go out every day with the intention to help someone. I try my best to do just that. I am sorry for the length, but I felt the need to share my story, I am sorry for the lack of details, but if you wish for more. My email is: [email protected] , if you have any questions doesn’t hesitate to ask.

I was that kid, only I wasn't called "fat" by anyone other than my mother. I was teased in elementary school because I had learned to read before I was 4, and my mother had taken me around to classes to read for the kids. Maybe you'd think I'd be admired for that? Nope, they were jealous. And when I cried because of the teasing, they called me a "crybaby." I went to 5 different schools, and the bullying went with me, especially when I developed acne. My hair was excessively oily, and since I shared one bathroom with my mother and sister, I didn't always get a chance to wash it. I usually ended up standing in the back of the bus because no one wanted to sit with me. Bus driver? He joined in (that was when all bus drivers were students). I could write a book about this, and maybe I will someday.

Reading this brought back some painful memories of feelings and events that have shaped my entire life. In grade school I attended a small private school. I had red fuzzy hair, (some things never change) that caught the attention of a boy in class, "Nicky." Nicky used to chase me on the playground and spit on me. I remember running as fast as my legs would carry me, but he still was faster and always managed to get his spit on me somewhere. I remember him chasing up the monkey bars where i lost my footing and fell, landing on bar all the way down. Once on the ground the wind was knocked out of me. I remember very clearly the pain of not being able to gasp for breath. One of the teachers bend down by the bars and simply said, "Knocks the wind out of you doesn't it."  She had seen the entire thing and still did nothing. Teachers and classmates were all aware of the abuse and the name calling. I was dubbed "Lassie." I was so embarrassed and hurt that I would be compared to a dog. No one ever defended me and my bully was never punished. In fact I remember one afternoon when the chase was on. I was running as I could hear Nicky screaming "Lassie" behind me when my vision was suddenly obscured. I felt moisture on my face running down my cheek. He was spitting again, and this time he managed to get my face. I stopped running and tried to wipe away the spit when he came up behind me quick and pushed me to the ground. When I stood up the rage I felt was so intense I wasn't sure what I was going to do next. I raced after Nicky and managed to catch up to him. I grabbed his arm and twisted as hard and fast as I could. The yard aid quickly raced out to Nicky's rescue and comforted him as she yelled at me, "Go sit on the wall!" I walked over to the wall and sat down still trying to wipe away his spit. My legs were sore and I knew I would have additional bruises the next day. My legs were always bruised from the chasing, kicking and being pushed to the ground. My mom would comment on my bruises often. When I told her that Nicky would chase me and kick me she said, "He is doing that only because he likes you." I didn't want him to like me, nor did I care if he liked me. This went on until my parents divorced. My mother could not afford to pay for private school, so I was placed in the public school system. Surprisingly, I was not treated poorly. I was amazed. I was sure the previous experiences I had would carry forward. Life was good. I wasn't a popular kid, I had my small group of friends. We faded into the background. The junior high tradition was to send the eighth graders to Magic Mountain. I had never been on a roller coaster and was really nervous. Waiting in line with my friends, I glanced back at the other graduates from other schools in town when i saw a familiar face. My mouth opened, but nothing would come out. The color must have run out of my face because my best friend looked at me and asked, "Are you ok? You look like you feel sick." She was right. All I could croak out was, "Lassie." My friends asked what I was talking about, but I couldn't speak. It was Nicky, just a few paced behind us. My palms were sweaty and my stomach was turning. I tried to focus on moving on with the day, but I was constantly looking over my shoulder and scanning the area for signs of my torturer. I never did have a face to face run in with him that day, but it did something to me inside. I realized that just because no one called me Lassie anymore and I was not longer chased and spit on, I was still that girl with the red, frizzy hair called Lassie. It wasn't until I was an adult that I recalled my terrors with  one of my friends from grade school. I expressed that I never understood why he called me Lassie. That was when I was finally enlightened that it was because of my hair. As a result, I have never liked my hair and to this day feel like the ugly girl. Bullying hurts and the pain runs deep and long. I am glad you wrote about your experiences and awareness about this issue is now being taken seriously. I now make great efforts to teach compassion and kindness to my children. The cycle of abuse has to stop.

i would have stood up for my self

AJB.

daley

I was always the nerd growing up.  Luckily it was more of a plus at school, a lot of kids wanted the smart kid for groupwork, etc.  In my junior year of high school however things changed.  Someone started a rumor that I had complained about our male drama teacher.  I never did that.  I loved this guy, he was the coolest teacher I had by far.  One day I walked into class and everyone was staring at me.  People started coming up to me asking me if I had any idea who had complained about their favorite teacher.  I was clueless but I had a sense of dread surrounding me the entire day.  Why did people keep looking at me?  Then my teacher came up to my class and gave an impassioned speech about how whoever it was that had complained about him was lower than a snake, lower than a rat.  I can still remember the exact words he used "whoever you are, you know who you are, you're a rat".  Later in the afternoon was the honors assembly where kids would go on stage in front of the entire elementary and high school (800 students) and receive an award for outstanding academic performance.  Their parents would go up with them too.  My mom and dad were their to support me, dad would be going up with me and mom would be taking pictures.  When it was time for my class to be awarded, the kids started to do a pattern clap.  Every girl from my class that got an award received that same clap.  When it was my turn, all of a sudden...silence.  I was mortified.  I tried my very best not to cry.  My dad was holding my hand so tight and trying to get me across the stage in one piece.  The next girl after me to go up on stage received the same pattern clap.  My parents demanded an audience with the teacher and yelled at him until he was crying.  He apologized to me in front of my entire class a couple of weeks later.  It didn't help.  From then on I was a shell of the already shy person I had been in high school.  I couldn't look people in the eye, I kept feeling like everyone was looking at me and judging me even if they weren't.  When I went to college in the States I spent 3 out of my 4 years there looking at my feet when I talked to new people.  I was painfully shy until I went to counseling to deal with it.  Since then I have grown stronger and am on my best days, a confident extrovert.  I credit a lot of that to my faith and am a witness to how God can really change a person.  

Thank you for writing this post.  I had never written about my bullying experience before but will definitely do so now.  And will definitely share your post as well.  The more people know about the effects of bullying the better.

When I think back on my childhood I always get angry over how none of the adults ever did anything to help me. They all saw and heard what was done to me every day, all day long, for 8 years, and never once did anything. Unfortunately, being nice to the bullies and showing love did not work for me. I was pushed too far and hurt a few of them. Thankfully the bullying stopped for me after that.

Bullying is a horrible thing but even worse is the indifference of otherwise good people.

I am 55 years old, and still have issues with being bullied as a child by school mates and my brother. The few friends I ever had, also ended up on the bullies "side". That crushed me. Because of this, I keep up "walls", because I don't think I am ever good enough to have and keep friends. My husband and children have questioned me a few times on my lack of friends, but I just tell him, I am a "loner" and like to keep to myself. That is such a lie. I wish I could know the joy of having a best friend.

I've been there. I've been the bullied, my entire life i've been the bullied. Like you, it started with one kid in the class. I wasnt the fat kid though, i was just the one who was randomly chosen to be bullied.

My story is different though. My earliest memories have all been horrible. Up until the age of 12 i was the subject of bullying. Literally. Throughout my entire childhood i've had my sister push me around as a young child. The first friend i EVER made was at the age of 8. the time i finally told anyone, my parents, was at the age of 12.

I wasnt pushed or shoved, i wasnt sexually assaulted. But i was a sensitive, empathic child with ADHD, and i was bullied for that. In the arab world, its a male dominated society. A man who shows any sign of "weakness" is preyed upon, rotting flesh for the crows to feast upon, sensitivity and empathy are my two greatest strengths, they have been my whole life. But they were the very things that were preyed upon.

All i remember from my childhood was the pain and suffering from being bullied by everyone around. Older kids, younger kids, kids in my age group, they all targeted me. I felt like the whole school was against me. And i wanted to die. I WOULD have died, if i didnt have an irrational fear of death and a very very low pain threshold. the thought of hurting myself was beyond the question, so every day i prayed to just... disappear. Vanish. Be gone. Like you i didn't tell a single soul. I had an easier time than you in one aspect, that i atleast had friends, but they were bullied with me too. I only found out later though that i took the brunt of the force of the bullying.

LIke you said, those who do anything but shrug off the bullying are the quickest to fall. Unfortunately with my extreme sensitivity, even the smallest outburst had me bawling in tears. The bullies kept coming. The crows kept feasting. And there was nothing i could do.

On the bus to school i was bullied. In the playgrounds, in the classroom i was bullied, in the bus on the way back i was bullied.

I would have been fine if i had my family. But i didnt.

My family was utterly unstable. With my father and my sister having screaming matches every day, and my mother trying to be the peace keeper, i was essentially left to my own devices. my own thoughts. dark thoughts.

like you i would cry when i was alone, and i would say i was fine when anyone asked me. The only thing i had was my imagination. It only flourished to wish demise on myself. I gave up wishing anything would happen to them, because i had no support from my family either. everything was unstable. i felt that i truly had nothing. Not even by choice, because i had no say in any matter. My father was angry at the slightest detour of his commands. My mother, which i only found out recently, has been depressed for over 25 years, from before i was even born. My sister, the rebel, always stampeded her way into her room after an argument, and when i selflessly went in to talk to her, she shoved me aside.

so i stopped talking. to anyone.

after four years of unending torture in that school, after the torture that i remember from when i was five years old, after the shouting and spanking i received as a child, the shoving, the hurt, the pain, i finally told someone about it.

my life vastly improved within a matter of days. The pain though, thats stayed with me until now. From my childhood i've learned to never share my feelings with anyone, to keep them to myself. and thats cost me.

And still i'm the same. the selfless me who stands out of their own way to help other people out. my caring nature taken advantage of by everyone in my grade, and for years too.

When i finally broke free out of the grasp of the bullies, i found myself on the sidelines as my best friend became the focus of the bullying.

I couldn't help. i was made fun of for even being friends with him. i barely had the strength to continue myself, how could i stand up for my best friend after that? the few times i did, the bullies attacked like savage dogs, and i had to flee.

for as much as i tried, i knew that if i did any more, i would have returned to that state of suicidal thoughts.

Everyone has tough times in their lives, but i havent had a break from bullying from the moment i entered a school to the moment i left highschool. every day it surrounded me and i just learned to walk away, otherwise i would have gotten to the edge again, and if i returned, the brink would have become an option, something i could not permit myself to do.

bullying happens at ANY age, not just highschool. and there needs to be stability at home too. Not only do parents need to keep an eye out for their kids behaviours, but what their kids are feeling too. Bullying needs to stop before more lives are ruined, before more families suffer, before bullying kills all of our children.

I read your story, and it is a mirror image of mine. I wasn't the "fat kid", I was the "priest-bastard". You see, my father is a lutheran minister, and that was enough to release the mob. It started with curiosity I guess. "Do you pray every day?" "Do you go to church?" "Do you believe in God?", but after a few months of school it had developed into comments like "priest-bastard" (my translation from Norwegian "præstjævel" litterally: priest devil). A few months later, the beatings started. I got bullied from the first grade until I was 16. That's when I started at a new school, as the invisible boy. (That class had a reunion not long ago, and nobody remembered to invite me! I only heard about it later...) I too know now that the bullies most likely had issues, and I have forgiven them. But I will never forget how it was. On another, yet related topic: My girlfriend had a really awful day a few months back. She felt useless, and sat on a bench crying softly, trying to hide it. A stranger walked up to her, and handed her a note. Written on it were the following: "You are amazing! Don't let them win!" To quote 9gag: Faith in humanity - restored!

I was bullied as a child. I was bullied up until about 9th grade. I was a big guy, for the most part. I didn't play sports, I didn't talk much, and I did well in class. I had the benefit of a few friends back in those days. I was bullied everyday except Saturday. Monday through Friday I was bullied at school because I was 'fat', because I didn't play football with the guys, and because me and my friends sat in a corner and just talked. I was called gay a lot, as well. Sundays were the worst, because all my bullies were from the same church, the same church that I and my family went to. I was forced to sit in their midst and be taunted by them for 2 hours in the morning, nonstop, while also having to go to church afterward and here them preach about how we are all worthless, about how nothing we do will ever matter, that we all will go to hell, that we should have no friends outside the faith, etc. It was a painful existence. One of my few saving graces was videogames. I would spend my time playing those games trying to distract myself, or allowing myself to imagine my bullies getting killed by the in-game character. I'm not a violent person. Never was, never will be. But it was so comforting to think about being left alone, to not be bullied anymore. Middle school was much the same. 6th grade was the most painful, though. There was a boy, and I'll just call him John, who came to our school. He was about my size, the same kind of person I was. He was picked on a lot by the same people I was. I befriended him, showed him around, helped build up his confidence. What did he do? He turned around, joined my bullies, and made my life even worse. He didn't let up until freshman year. Once I hit freshman year, everything stopped. I wasn't bullied at all. On the flip-side, I also felt more alone than ever. Here I was in a bigger student pool, still only having maybe 6 friends, and having no classes with them. By this point, I had lost the ability to cry, an ability I have not been able to get back since then (I'm 19 now, and I lost the ability to cry in about 6-7th grade). Being from a family that has a strong history of depression on both sides, I was hit with a very intense wave of it. I became a self injurer. I would cut myself, burn myself, punch walls, try to dislocate fingers, all that jazz. And it felt good. After years of emotional abuse at the hands of those people, physical pain was the only thing that helped me to forget. In this severe rut that I was in, I also seriously fantasized about suicide. When December of 2007 came along, I was attempting suicide every night, sometimes halfheartedly. I would try to hang myself, overdose, cut a vein, etc. It went on for months. I made 2 friends that new about my self injury. They would become instrumental in my recovery. They had no idea who I was prior to that year, but they accepted me for who I was, showed me a kindness I hadn't seen from anyone since I was maybe 5 years old. Even my family wasn't nice to me for years. These 2 people showed me more kindness in three months, than everyone else in my life did in about 10 years. I began to have hope again. I still hurt myself everyday, but not as much as I used to. In time, I stopped entirely, only starting again maybe once a year.  I've been clean of self injury now for about 3 years, the longest streak for me. I know that having those two people love and accept me for who I am, faults and all, saved my life and my sanity. I don't really know why I put this all in here, but I did. To all the bullied out there: Things will get better. There is at least one person out there who loves you, most likely far more than just one. You just need to persevere. 

This post has stuck with me. I've been asked to speak in May at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Taos, NM. I believe my topic will be about bullying. I recently wrote a post about my experiences being bullied and how studying martial arts in my late thirties gave me freedom from my Middle School demons, however, I've been thinking about this topic and have done quite a bit of reading.  Today I wrote the article below about bullying. I hope it is a worthwhile read for some and thanks Dan for your post!

Bullying...We Still Tolerate It, WTF?!?? - http://reasonable-thought.blogspot.com/2012/04/bullyingdowestilltolerateit.html 

I'm a synesthete. I don't really know the exact technical term for it, but synesthesia is a condition where the senses are mixed. Sometimes people reading a phrase will see color on the lines, some people will hear something and have a taste for it. I have the type where when a sound is heard my brain produces an image, usually of a blossoming pattern. When I was in elementary school I used to refer to sounds by their color or the feel of the pattern they made. It got to a point in about third grade where other kids started asking me what I meant when I said a fire alarm was a different shade of purple than a balloon popping. I didn't know that nobody else did this, so I would just hold up a crayon or ask them what they meant. One day one of my classmates and his friends came up to me during recess and started bullying me, calling me the "freak who saw things." Everyone thought I was crazy, or insane, or that there was something wrong with me. The only explanation I could make for myself was that all they could hear was white; I wouldn't realize that I was the only one who did this until I was about ten. I became extremely bitter and angry that I couldn't make them understand. The same kid with his friends would chase me around, and whenever they caught me they were smart enough to leave bruises that wouldn't show. I couldn't fight back, I was a twiggy eight year girl. All I could do was run faster. Looking back he was one of the smartest bullies I ever encountered, if he thought of things like that at eight. One day while I was running away from them it occurred to me that if I was crazy, I could be justified for turning on them, just as they felt justified in chasing me. So I ran behind a building, grabbed a rock and came at the kid who started it. I ended up breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground. I would have continued, but the sound of his crying and the sound the rock made against his face was one of the ugliest things I'd ever heard and it made me stop and look at him for a minute. I realized that I had become frustrated at him for being unable to understand me, but that I couldn't understand his view of the world any better. So I picked him up and took him back to the main grounds and took my suspension, but I was glad for it. For the rest of my public school days I was continually bullied for various so-called flaws in my character; that I was too-outdoorsy, and didn't like to wear dresses and ribbons, and liked to play sports, and painted in strange colors while humming strange things. I even got picked on for volunteering at my local hospice. But it only partly bothered me, because I had something that everyone else did not. And they might hate me for not knowing what it was I had, but I was not allowed to hate them for not being able to understand. We all have things that other people won't get about us. I'm extremely glad to be a synesthete, because it allows me to see the world in different ways; and it's become something about myself that I share with a few people I'm close to, because the ones that love you are the ones that will try to understand. Today I'm glad that I was chased and beaten as a kid, because as a young woman I've grown to be curious about how other people see the world, the interesting quirks that surround them, and what I can do to envision their dreams. The only lesson I'd like to impart is this: If one day, you're talking to someone and you can't understand them, whether literally, emotionally, or mentally, please don't get angry with them, or heaven forbid start picking on them or bullying them. Some of the most beautiful people I've met are people I can't understand. It's the depth of their character and their personalities that draw me to them, and that should never be taken away from someone.

In elementary school the popular girls had a list of who they would be mad at that day. I was at the top of the list most of the time. Sometimes they grew bored with tormenting me or decided they needed to share there "love" with others. Their torment seeped to others, so even on the days that I was not at the top of their list, I was on someone elses.  They would following me around the play ground and antagonize me. I would walk away and walk away and walk away. Then the fire cracker would go off and i would turn around and punch who ever it was, right in the nose. I never got in trouble for being aggressive because I walked away at least three times before letting go. I don't know why I was a target. I do know that I got in fights on an average of once a week at one point in my elementary years. I do know that when I was the target, I accepted that my bff would not be talking to me to keep the torment from spreading to her. I do know that I still feel animosity towards those twins that started this whole thing. I also know, that I was guilty of tormenting a girl in my first grade class who was "less of a person" than I was. In second grade, that little girl revealed to us girls in the bathroom, the back of her legs. She had purple strips from her lower back to just above her knees, each at least an inch wide. We told the teacher and looking back, she stopped going to our school not long after that. I often think about her and wonder what happened to her. I don't believe I bullied again after that but I continued to be bullied.

I'm in uni now and I remember being bullied for 12 years through primary and secondary school. I don't even remember how it started but there was all the usual name-calling and tripping in the corridors. What made it worse was the fact that I actually had friends. I was not completely alone in primary school but it felt that way - my friends melted into the backdrop and watched while I was bullied. I got past it when the bullies moved to other schools but I have yet to find the courage to tell my old school how much their denial of what was a real and immediate problem hurt me. I think my message to other people would be a reinforcement of SDLs, but with the added message: Bullying does not stop when school ends. Bullying is everywhere, its in the competing students, its in the workplace, its in the home. Please don't feel like because you are no longer in formal education that bullying is no longer an issue. It really is and it affects people of all ages. Please don't forget the adults who feel worthless, who cry into their pillow. We can all extend a hand to people around us.

I would personally like to thank the many assholes I am unfortunate enough to have known in life who put me through the exact same treatment to the T that the author suffered, except with the word gay replacing fat. (Since no one could seriously call me fat.) While this started for me in 5th grade, like it did for the author, it worsened dramatically upon entering middle school. And while my new school from 8th-12th grade provided some relief, to be honest, it wasn't until Junior year that the taunting and bullying even came close to a full stop. This IS an issue. As the author points out, we, as a society, have taught the bullied that saying everything is fine is the best solution. I know firsthand, and I think we all do, that this is NOT right. Repression makes things worse. Much worse in some cases. And the excuses made, that boys will be boys (rude and crude) or girls will be girls (catty and hierarchical) are NOT acceptable. Finally, the thing about bullying is that at its worst, it comes from everyone. I can remember clearly instances where people (with whom I am now friendly) bullied me. It wasn't always from the "popular people" to me. This message needs to be shared. Not because you or any of your friends were/are the bullies. Indeed I bet none of us think we are or ever were. But I'm not that naive to think I've never bullied anyone. I'm certain there easily could have been someone I viewed as lower on the chain than myself upon whom I vented my frustrations. No one is immune from needing to understand this problem rooted in our society. If nothing else, to provide a helping hand to a friend in need and NOT tell them to just deal.

from as far back as i can remember up to around 9th grade, i was bullied. in the beginning i was overactive and to weird for anyone to like. At least thats what i thought. i wouldnt have any friends, and those who felt the need to made it pretty obvious that they really, truly, honestly hated me. I had never felt more alone, and the need to take my own life eventually became so prominent that i would think about how i would do it and who it would affect. Thank God i was never brave enough to do it.

I was fat as a child. Not fat, but noticably overweight. I was so self concious and so lacking in love for myself that i would dress in baggy clothes. Clothes that were definately masculine. i was ridiculed for years.

it wasnt until around 9th grade that i finally realized that it didnt matter what others thought, well, actually, thats not true. I still think it matters what people think. I am still ruled by the opinions of others. What i realized is that it was OK to be different. It was OK to be myself. I still struggle with that every day.

I am 15. I am in 10th grade now. I have wonderful friends and people who care about me and want to be with me. I still cant get over that. They like me because of who i am not who they think i should be. I have embraced the cure to the "Perfect" disease. I am real.

I am sad to say that i myself have been bullying another kid from my school. His name is Jonah. I always feel bad about it, but other peoples' joining in overrides those feelings. It isnt until now that i intend to stop whoever will bully Jonah. I can see in him the same person i was. The same person i still am, and it makes me sick to think that i have let this go on for so long. i can guarantee that i will never again treat Jonah as someone who is lesser than me.

I am thankful everyday that i have people around me who will support me and who love me unconditionally. Parents who are always there for me and always take my feelings and opinions into account, who are always there for me whether i want them to be or not. Friends who see the best in me when i cant see it in myself. Thank you, Dan, for opening my eyes and showing me what i have been missing for years.

I am deeply and truley sorry for the way i have treated you Jonah

When I think back to my high school years, I had many of the same feelings that you describe after being bullied.  I was miserable, depressed, felt worthless, and all that.  But, the thing that strikes me when I think back is not how much I was bullied but how little.  Oh, it happened, but the incidents I remember were not common.

The point is that even a small incident can make a huge impression.  Especially in a teen with a tendency to depression and sadness already.  One relatively minor incident can send a person brooding for weeks and be internally amplified  until it's as bad as a daily barrage.  So, as you reach out, don't just think of the kids who are the regular and constant victims.  Every incident deserves attention, and every kid who shows symptoms of being bullied needs the same help whether they are getting constant daily doses of hate or just a few incidents here and there.  Don't write it off just because the bullying is "not that bad" from your perspective.  If the symptoms are bad, the bullying is bad, no matter how minor the incident looks from the outside.  

I am lucky to have had parents that did a very good job of always letting me know I was loved and valued and that they were trying to help even if they didn't always know how.  Considering how close I came to not being here today even with that support, I can almost guarantee I'd have been a suicide statistic without that love and support.

When I was in elementary school, I was bullied. A lot. It wasn't even until sixth grade that I made any friends. I remember coming home from school and wanting nothing to do with anyone. I just wanted to be left alone. After all these years, I have learned that bullies who are kids do it because they haven't been taught better by their parents, and because they don't feel powerful enough in and of themselves without taking someone else down a notch. I don't usually think about it now, nearly sixteen years later, but I realize that the bullying had a huge effect on me. I am afraid of talking to people I don't know and embarrassing myself; I am afraid of ridicule and displeasure from others. Being bullied, I believe, only increased my social anxieties, because I withdrew into a shell and became so oblivious to others so that I wouldn't get hurt that I have trouble connecting with people and knowing what to say. If a bully doesn't get a response, they may ignore bullying you face to face, and for me, I could deal with it better if it wasn't directly in front of me. But just knowing that I was probably hated and made fun of in the back of somebody's mind or behind my back to others made me angry, sad, and paranoid. I was hateful of people throughout middle school because of it, and resented them to the point where I elevated myself above them in my mind not to take their comments seriously. They made fun of me because I was 'smart', and a 'teacher's pet' because I got good grades and had the answers in class? I snubbed my nose at them and thought of them as worthless, brainless wastes of flesh. Not that I would say it to them, but I sure would think it to myself. Horrible, I know. Sometimes I still slip into that mindset if I'm rejected or ridiculed enough. But I was really afraid, and trying to survive. And I hated myself most of the time. I still hate myself some of the time, and wonder if I'll ever overcome these obstacles. I want to love people. But after so long of being afraid of them, resenting them, and ignoring them for survival, it is enormously difficult to even reach out to a stranger who 'looks' like those who bullied me in the past without being extremely nervous and awkward. I'm working on it, though...

Thank you for writing this. I don't think people take bullying seriously enough. I wished for death through many of my elementary and middle school years, and if it wasn't for the few friends I made in middle school, for the youth group at my church that loved me despite me and everyone else at school, and for my adamantly supportive and loving mother (since my dad was never there because of adultery and divorce on his part), I doubt I would be here today. I am so glad I was told that it doesn't last forever. But it is still part of me, and I doubt it will ever leave me. All I hope is that the pain I went through will produce fruit, and will help me to reach out to others who have been in my position or ARE in my position now.

I helped bully two kids at separate times. I did this with other classmates. I felt guilty every time but at least it wasn't me. It felt good not to be the bullied. I know that because I was bullied. In sixth grade, this girl who was my friend decided she hated me and did everything she could to make my life miserable. I fought back but my efforts only landed me in trouble with my parents. I was unfortunate enough to have my dad work with her dad in the same squadron (navy guys). And then fortunately enough for me, we moved out of the state. Only problem was I was bullied again. This time, it was a kid named Brian, who, in the seventh grade incessantly made fun of my "double chin" which, it later turns out, was not the excess fat under my chin (and I didn't have any then) but my cute little butt chin.. a part of my body I actually liked. Brian picked on me from the bus stop to school and then back home again. We were both navy brats living on the same tiny base. I cried when I got home every day for months. I shared a room with my sister who noticed that I was bothered. And my sister did something about it. She confronted him. Actually, she did more than confront, she kicked his ass. Not hard, not to a pulp, but she smartened him. His mother saw and asked what was going on, so my sister told her and he got in trouble with his mom. Triumph! Never again did he mess with me. He was actually nice. So then years later, I'm in high school and there's this boy whose family was poor. He was smelly and dirty and he rode my bus. He didn't live in the house with his parents. He had a little trailer off to the side that he lived in. It was common for poor families with small homes to have trailers off to the side for their teenage kids so don't think his parents rejected him too. A lot of friends in that high school lived that way. This guy though, with his dirty hair and clothes, did not escape my wrath. He didn't do anything to me and he was never unkind. But years of being bullied taught me that you're either with them or they're against you too and no one wants to be on the receiving end of the bullying. I helped this kid get bullied because I laughed at the hijinks the bullies played. I wish I could go back and have enough self-esteem to put an end to it. 

I was bullied for years.  By the kids at school and by my own brother.  I was bullied because I was shorter than all the other kids.  I have never gotten over it but I did survive it because I had the most amazing sister who always told me how cute I was and how smart I was and all the other kids were just jealous.

I used to be a human napkin. Literally. I had this friend who would wow her hands off on me when they needed cleaning. I've been through all kinds of abuse, from friends, family, strangers. The only people I consider family are my siblings and my very close friends. My sister kept me going, inventing games for us to play and including me in her business plans, even though she was horribly bullied as well. While we were teens, she was kicked out of the house for a long while. I became suicidal. Then a friend told me about a school I could go to that was far away. I switched schools (for the tenth time) and started growing into myself. I'd been writing since I was 11, but now I felt as if I could share those ideas. I started building trust in people again. It took until I finally escaped my mom's house at 18 to start actually becoming myself. I've been working on myself for the past six years since then. Five years ago I stopped trying to commit suicide. Four years ago I came to terms with my sexuality. Three years ago I vowed never to be raped again. Two years ago, I learned to respect myself as I am. One year ago I learned to let people grow as I had let myself grow. I used to try to force people to grow faster than they were ready to. I apologized to anyone I could get in contact with for anything I'd ever done. I am finally loving myself and others. I am finally growing because I choose to and am ready to, abs not because I was forced to survive. I can see the beauty in being unfinished and malleable, instead of cursing my and other's imperfection. I look forward to the future, and want to help others do the same. All of the comments in here made me want to cry. I love all of you, I just want you to know that.