I was listening to a class discussion today in American Politics about bullying, and it made me start thinking about a lot of things.
A lot of things that I have been through.
You see, these preps were complaining about some senior girls who were cutting in the lunch line every day. They were afraid to stand up and say anything, and still are, because they don't want these girls talking about them and spreading rumors. They say that it's disrespectful. I agree. They do have a point.
But these are the same preps who have bullied me since the end of the year in sixth grade. One girl I was even friends with at one point.
When I was in sixth grade, I lived in Texas. It was a nice place, with an awesome curriculum, not much bullying, and plenty of open-mindedness among the students (as open minded as sixth graders get, mind you). I was on the A-B honor roll constantly. I had plenty of friends. Halfway through the year, we had to move for personal reasons (reasons I cannot openly disclose on my blog). I went from living in a nice house, with more than enough money for what we needed, to living in a mobile home with four other people. Not even modular, it was a legit mobile home. As in one of those fancy little trailers. Well, let's just cut fancy right out of that sentence.
By the end of the year in sixth grade, here in Wisconsin, I was making straight F's and D's. I was bullied, a lot. My entire seventh grade year I lived in fear of going to school. My bullies may not remember everything they did, but I sure do. Almost every little thing.
I missed 32 days in seventh grade. Thirty-two. I wasn't spoken to by a truancy official until eighth grade.
In seventh grade, some of you may recall I wore a lot of black. I was almost completely outcast, except for a few select people I called friends, who I don't even talk to anymore. Once, during class, a boy walked up to me and hit me in the head with a binder. The girl next to me said:
"Hit her again!"
His reply? "No, I'm too nice."
I remember wondering what made them so much better than me. It wasn't looks, because the girl was three times my size. It wasn't intelligence, because they're both pretty inept in my book. What was it? Let's look back here, and remember something our parents may have told us long ago: "People pick on other people because it makes themselves feel better."
Or something along those lines.
I was harassed for my hygiene. Wait. Didn't I just say I was living in a trailer with four other people? Trailers have those tiny-ass showers that don't keep hot water for five minutes. Yeah, I was going to have oily hair. It's a trailer home, and I'm not rich. I'm sorry I don't have as much luxury as you? Every day in P.E. it was something new.
I was called "stupid," and "freak," and so on. I started cutting halfway through seventh grade. Yes, I did. It was a dark time for me. I do blame other people for that. I do not cut anymore. I will not. I have found other ways to cope.
In eighth grade, Tiffany moved in. I loved Tiffany. By then, we had moved to the country with a modular home, and had built on my room off the sliding door on the side. (yeah, it's pretty sweet).
I became Tiffany's barbie. She dressed me in Hollister, made me not look so emo or gothic. She showed me how to apply "preppy" makeup and she was so nice to me. This was the nicest anyone had been. She met my ex, and his family.
And then my ex started to like her.
I'm not going to go into detail about that, though. What I'm drawing attention to here, is that when I started wearing Hollister, so many people in my grade thought it was so wrong. I remember one day, I was in the bathroom washing my hands. This girl came in.
"Why are you wearing that?"
"Because my roommate made me?"
"Yeah, right. I bet it's just 'cause you think it'll make you fit in."
She left. I didn't know what to think. Honestly, I did hope that I would blend in more. That people wouldn't pick me out the way they did. I was wrong.
After my ex killed himself (yep. He happened to call my roommate before he did, he wouldn't talk to me. Sometimes I tell myself he hated me. He wouldn't ever talk to me), I went into almost complete withdrawal. Ohh, Tiff is hurt soo bad, let's all give her hugs and talk to her. Truth is, she did hurt. But what hurt me more than anything is that no one stopped to think that I might hurt, too. I didn't get any hugs. No one talked to me. I've always been so jealous of things like that.
Well, I failed the eighth grade. I went to summer school and had everything finished two hours early every day. No, I'm not stupid. I just don't do the work. Why? This area's curriculum is retarded.
I was so used to being beat up against the brick wall during middle school, and looking up to see that stupid, fat ass P.E. teacher watching. She never did anything.
Why couldn't anyone help me?
Freshman year. Why can't I just move somewhere else?! was my constant thought. I was picked on by bigots and preps. Mostly close-minded people. By then I was more open about my religion, Wicca, and was being picked on for that. Yup, I was being picked on for my beliefs. I also happen to be bisexual, which I can't exactly help.
People are really going to pick on others just because of their beliefs?
Finally, by the end of my freshman year, my bullies moved onto other targets. I guess they got tired of me not fighting back.
Now, this girl mentioned above, who was complaining about those seniors? She wouldn't know bullying if it punched her in the nose. (Of course, punching her in the nose would be bullying, so could I really say that?)
Something doesn't feel right about that. Now, I have seen her grow as a person. She started off as a sweet girl in sixth grade, turned into a snotty bitch (who, by the way, I wanted to kick in the throat), and is now a very nice person in my eyes. She had bullied me mostly throughout middle school, but something is different about her, now. I could forgive her.
The other girls?
Don't you think it's funny how bullies don't really know they're bullying someone, but it's so obvious to everyone else?
I am awaiting the day that someone actually stands up for me, because I lost the will to stand long ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment