November 20, 2009

  • Victim, turned Bully

    Middle school was one of the most miserable experiences of my entire life.  Though it was only three years, it felt like closer to eight.  I wasn’t exactly the expressive, picture-happy, confident girl that my blog currently portrays me as.  I was more of the awkward, geeky, but-wants-to-be-cool girl, with crooked teeth,  that only weighed 70lbs and was six inches shorter than the rest of my class.

      

    [[ah, the good times at the lunch table]]
    “How far have you gotten?”

    “What do you mean?”  We were supposed to be participating in a ‘get to know you’ activity in our language class.

    He burst into laughter.  “Hey, dude.  Listen to this!”  He turned back towards me, “How far have you gotten?”

    I turned bright red as I realized what he was saying to me.
    I’ve blocked out a majority of the incidents of bullying.  It’s not always good for me to pull those things out of my brain.  I don’t want to remember the more intense incidents.  The momentary ones are bad enough.  They still make me feel ashamed of being me. 

    My height, my weight, my inexperience (sexually, and otherwise), my clothes, my face, my smile – none of it was exempt from comment from my peers.  I was an assumed anorexic, but whenever anyone saw me eat I was considered a fat slob.   I didn’t have a boyfriend until I turned 18, that was cause for ridicule.  I wore sweat pants and despised jeans, so I was homeless and my mother dressed me every morning.
    “You three are Satan and his minions!”

    I was so proud of that exclamation, of that reputation.  It was how I protected myself.  It was how I kept the insults from penetrating my shell.  Most of the bullies that bothered me were male.  I learned very quickly that I could hurt them physically far more than they could hurt me mentally.  I took to wearing combat boots; my mother thought I was just going ‘goth.’  A good sharp kick would leave them writhing on the floor in the middle of the library and give me the satisfaction of being able to keep my head held high while I stalked away.

    It wasn’t until years later that I realized that by being bullied, my coping mechanism was to become one myself.  By the time I reached high school no one bothered me any longer.  The boys were too afraid of being kicked and the girls, well, they never really bothered me to begin with and with dwindling interest from the men, the girls lost interest too.

    For a long time I thought I had conquered my bullies.  I think I actually became worse than they were.

    I think I missed bully awareness week,
    but I figured I’d share my story.

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