Thursday, October 17, 2013


Today is SPIRIT DAY. Stomp out bullying. Everyone has wrote their take on bullying. Whether they was bullied, the bully, or a witness. I will tell my story. I was all 3. I quickly learned the right path, but not before it took a mental toll on me and those involved.

Bullying starts somewhere. Whether its at home, school, with yourself, it starts. When we are young, we don't automatically criticize ourselves or others. Its a learned trait. Where you learned it from says a lot. Being bullied can lead to you being the bully. Not many people take that route. I hear of more and more kids, teens and some adults commiting suicide because of bullying and it breaks my heart. I remember hearing the kids taunting voices, the looks on their faces, the smiles, the laughter. I remember thinking, IF I TAKE MY LIFE THERE WILL BE NO LAUGHTER, NO MORE CRYING IN THE BATHROOM.

3rd grade is when I remember my first bullied moment. A girl was my friend. We was really close. I invited her to my birthday party, we was best friends. Then one day, she wanted to fight me because she just wanted to know what it felt like to be suspended from school. She kept trying to get me to fight her. I found out it was because she didn't like the way I looked. All because of how I looked. Something I could not control.

I was in 4th grade. I am standing at a sink in the bathroom crying. I reached to grab a paper towel to wipe my face. I hear the door open. "GREAT MORE JOKES" I thought to myself as someone walked in. It was a girl. The tall quiet girl. She wasn't in my class, but we had recess together. She kept to herself. She was tall. EXTREMEMLY TALL. She washed her hands and as she was she looked at me and told me to ignore them. That they make fun of her all the time and she ignores them. She smiled at me, dried her hands and left. I don't know what happened to her, but I want to thank her for being kind.

I was being made fun of for being too short and not wearing name brand shoes.

Middle school. Where the boys come alive. You want a boyfriend, its a need to be popular and the latest fashion is a MUST have. I was always made fun of for being too short, too skinny, not wearing the best clothes. I had friends and pretended the jokes didn't hurt. SHUT UP, WHATEVER, LOSER, FORGET YOU was my catch phrases 6-8th grade. I had 2 boyfriends in middle school. Both of whom were popular in high school and pretended to have never dated me. Cool huh? I was always on the skinny side and you figured back then(like now) being skinny was in. No. I was too skinny, too white, didn't have the clothes every had, the shoes, my hair was frizzy and wouldn't tame. I wore glasses. I remember every night coming home, sitting in my room and reading books all the time. My books were my escape. They ended my cries(unless the book ended), the let me hide and pretend I was someone else. Just for a moment.

High school. AHH. The time to start fresh. Be a new person. Oh sh*t. The girls who bullied me are here too? Great. Oh well, maybe they won't remember. Maybe they won't do it again.

I was wrong. I remmeber bullying a girl my freshman year. She was quiet, had unkept hair. Dirty, wore skechers(back then it was a holy sin to wear those). I made fun of her. I shouldn't have. I know that now, but I did it because I wanted someone else to feel what I did. I wanted to be in with the popular girls(yes the girls who made fun of me).

I was made of fun of for being too skinny. I didn't eat at home, I was anorexic. I was bulimic. I had dirty clothes, smelly clothes. I didn't have the name brand shoes. My hair was frizzy and I couldn't tame it. I was too white. Pale. I was the laughing stock of my school, and all because these girls decided I was one to be bullied. Because they did it middle school and now high school. I wanted to be APART of these girls lives. Be their friend. Even with all the bullying they did. I wanted to be in the IT crowd. These girls were pretty, had boyfriends, had boys wanting them. I wanted that. I wanted that to be left alone. If I was apart of them I would not be made fun of.

During lunch(I always wore my pants rolled up to my knees) one of these girls called me over to their table. "THIS IS IT" She asked me where I got my shoes because she liked them. I got them from walmart, but too embarrassed to say, I said "I DON'T REMEMBER" She tells me their cute and I say thanks and walkway. I then remember hearing laughter and giggling and them all saying WALMART. That was the worst part. I was so embarrassed. I hated my existence. I remember wanting the bullying to stop.

"I CAN'T DO THIS" I said as I held the knife against my wrist. I remember the feeling the first time I cut myself. I never knew why(even still to this day) I cut myself. The only thing I could think of is that when I cut myself, the blood flowing my wrist was like my feelings were draining from me. My hatred for myself, the sadness, the loneliness. Not many people knew I cut myself. If any at all.

I ended up having to switch high schools because I skipped too many classes. I was beat up at my other school for a rumor that was started about me. She got off at my bus stop and beat me up pretty bad. It ended up in court. My own friend took this other girls side. I could not see out of my eye, I was bloody. I came home crying. My dad was pissed. She got a restraining order. I haven't seen her since.

I hope that the girls who bullied me read this. I am not asking for an apology(its a long shot anyways) I am not hoping we will become friends. I am hoping, that when they read this, they realize the truth and change(if they haven't already)

Throughout my childhood my mom was not always there. Different boyfriends, alcoholic you name it. Abusive. I only felt love from her when she was drunk. It got worse in high school. The reason I wore dirty, smelly clothes was because we didn't have water. Or electricity half of the time. My mom would sit on her bed and watch tv all day long. Not come out at all. I was taking care of my sister. I was abused as a kid. Hit with belt buckles, verbal abuse. I was molested and I remember my mom called my dad and my dad is the one who did something. My mom was addicted to crack. I don't know if she still does it. I don't care at this point.

My food was usually a cold can of soup, or something from the local village pantry(gas station). With her foodstamp card. Because she didn't want to go grocery shopping. We didn't have electricity, so why go get things like milk and bread? I had to make scrambled eggs in a microwave. Because of that, I do not like scrambled eggs anymore. I remember having to sneak to our neighbors to fill a gallon jug of water from their water house hook up. I had to wear the same pants over and over and profusely spray perfume on them so they didn't smell like mildew or dog(they had a big great dane). Finally when I was 12, my mom allowed her boyfriend to kick me out. I went to my dads house. My grandma would send me checks for my birthday and holidays. I was too young to sign them, so my mom would. I didn't see a dime of that money. One year my Christmas presents were wrapped in a kroger bag. She came out, let us open them, and then went back to her room. She made no effort. Yea she was suffering. Whatever she had(depression, bi polar, drugs whatever), but she should of been a mom. Not me. I remember going as far back as when I was 4 and she would be passed out and I would make myself cereal. Hung over of course.

Remember how I mentioned I wore my pants rolled up? I did that because they was my sisters pants. They was the cleanest of my clothes and they was too short. So, I rolled them up. The new shoes from walmart that the girl made of? My sisters grandma bought those for me. My mom would end up with some loser guy she didn't want to be with except to use his money, sex, whatever. My mom wasn't a role model, except on WHAT NOT TO DO.

I am sure you are asking why my dad didn't intervene with all this. He didn't know the full truth. I hid stuff from him. I thought if I left, the abuse would land on my little sister. I didn't want that. That no one would take care of her. She couldn't cook. She couldn't get herself up. I needed to be there. I didn't tell my dad a lot of the things that happened while I lived at my moms house. My dad stood up for me no matter what, but he also told me to responsible. I did things any normal teen would do. I would lie about sleeping at a friends house. I would sleep at a friends house, but we would drive around looking to hang out with other friends. Nothing illegal was done. Except curfew breakage.

I am not looking for sympathy. I am not wanting it. I just wanted to share my story and let others know that it hurts. It still does. To this day, I care about my appearance(not all the time) and sometime thinking about this, kicks my depression into high gear. I have vowed to not bully, take after my mom, and to not allow anyone to bully me or my kids.

This is me. This is the face of someone who was bullied, and who bullied.

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