Three things sparked my inspiration for this post, the first of which being that we just got a new book in at work, directed at young adults, called Dear Bully, wherein a lot of prolific young adult writers discuss the bullying they received (and, indeed, gave) in their lifetimes, aimed at young adults to feel less alone, I suppose. The second source of the inspiration was "Geekgate," as I shall refer to it, wherein a woman outed a man she went on an OK Cupid date with as a total geekazoid--the man, shockingly, was *not* a jerk, but she felt the need to shit talk him for being a dork by using his real name and attempting to publicly shame him for being a badass Magic player. I thought it odd, that some bullies never seem to grow out of it, and continue to publicly lambast the victims of their bullying...which is why I decided to use the real names of a lot of those that bullied me here--because why should the bullied be continually shamed openly, without consequences for the bullies' behavior? And because, quite frankly, if any of the people I name somehow find this on the internet (and I'm not certain if google will show this or not), they cannot sue me for libel, as everything I am saying is completely true, and because I am still poor anyway, so what would they get? My Ultra-Humanite mini? Please. The third reason--victims shouldn't be shamed. Or silenced. We don't deserve the shame--the bullies do.
Bullying, for me, started in Kindergarten (perhaps earlier if you count my siblings), when Renee Br*ckman started pulling my hair and putting things in it (candy, gum, sticky paper, etc). My mother recalls being wary and sad to leave me on the first day, because she looked across the room and saw the instant hate in her eyes, directed at me for what reason, I do not know. But it was there--and it wasn't going away.
When my older sister hauled ass from on high in the 6th grade to give her a talking to about the behavior, I was mortified. Somewhere and somehow, in my little Kindergarten brain, I grasped that it was embarrassing to have your older sibling protect you, and that even though she was (and always would be) far more capable of standing up for herself (and indeed, myself) than I ever was, it seemed better...somehow...to just take it. I don't know why I felt this way, but it is a feeling that I have carried for years afterward. I wouldn't say that it stopped it completely...it just made Renee sneakier and more cunning in how she would insult me. I remember the passive-aggressive remarks she made to me in junior high about my extra deep laugh lines around my mouth--how different they are compared to everyone else's.
Sixth grade was arguably the worst year of my life, outside of the year my sister died. I didn't have a single friend that year, and Jesse Mess*er, Jenny Br*ndl and Jenny D*llingham had something to do with that. Jesse was by far the worst. Everyday he would tell me how fat and ugly I was, and when we went to the outdoor ice skate rink he shoved me down and kicked me with his skates on, all the while calling me, yes, "fat and ugly." At this time I was also being yanked out of class because my mother was in "The facility" and I guess it seemed really important for the guidance counselor and my teacher to embarrass me further by making me feel ashamed of my family, instead of talking to me about the bullies, or, indeed--talking to them about me. I once wrote a poem to my teacher--begging for help, really...a lament about my stomped on dignity--and she asked me why I wrote it. I know she'd witnessed the shit they'd said and done to me, so while she was asking me "What's your problem?," I wanted to spit in her face and say, "My problem is that you don't stop these fuckers from hurting me--partly because some of them are your little darlings with whom you read the goddamn bible with during recess, even though that is completely illegal in a public school!" But instead I shrugged, shuffled my feet while I stared at the floor and said, "Nothin'." Indeed, in 6th grade was when April J*nsky (one of many Fake Friends) invited me to her slumber party, and when they thought I was asleep, Jenny D and Jenny B covered my body in permanent marker, labeling me in print with all of the horrors of my existence--my ugliness, my stupidity and my worthlessness. Scrubbing my skin til it was pink and near raw in the bathroom just so my mother wouldn't see was pretty fucking horrible, to tell the truth. It seemed to me, illogical though this is, that if she knew they actually didn't like me, then the one person on this earth who loved me--my mother--would start to see that I was, in fact, a loser--and wouldn't want me as her daughter anymore. I started to think that I just had her fooled all this time into thinking I was acceptable and loveable. As it was, though bullying is illogical and comes from a place of cruelty, it seems to me that the victims of it can find logic where there is none. I had a mathematical system in my head that went something like this:
If only two people in my life think I'm worth anything--my parents, who don't really count because they *have* to love you, and 15 plus people think I'm worthless, then therefore, 15 votes>2 votes(or 0 votes, since, again, they are my parents), and so I must, in fact, be worthless. Because the numbers say so.
Rick R*berts happened in junior high. He was mostly obsessed with my nose. He taunted me endlessly about it. A lot of people did, but it was everyday with him. It actually hurt me a lot, not just because being made fun of hurt, but because I genuinely liked Rick. Not in a sexy way, but because he was an amazing drummer, and he was kind of badass and got in trouble. So it sucked that he was mean to me, because I used to fantasize about starting a band with him and us being friends. One day, while he was tormenting me about my nose, I looked at him and said, "Please be nice to me, today, Ricky..." And perhaps there was a raw earnestness to my voice, or my eyes were extra pleady, because he looked down and said, "I'm just kidding...you don't have a big nose, you know. It's just super pointy." Which...I honestly think he meant as an olive branch. It didn't stop him from making cracks about my boobs, though. It also didn't stop me from begging my parents on a daily basis for a nose job, or writing a letter to my sister asking for money for a nose job--something I had had every intention of buying when I turned 18. Even my ex-boyfriend's mother made cracks about it, telling me how much "better" Jennifer Grey looked after she had hers...encouraging this nonsense. Encouraging me to cut my face up. Though I swore up and down that I'd never forgive my parents for not coughing up for one, obviously I am grateful now that they refused. But back then, all I could see was how nobody loved me or ever would love me because I was inherently and unfixably wrong.
In highschool, Renee Z*egler was the worst, but for some reason, John Cardon*, whom I used to call a friend, turned on me. He started calling me an ugly cunt, and a bitch, and stuck a nasty, saliva-drenched wad of gum in my hair that I had to spend a whole afternoon trying to get out with peanut butter, reeking of ghetto cafeteria peanuts for the rest of the day. I don't know what turned him into an asshole, but he certainly became one.
Bullying begets a kind of narcissism. It makes one feel they are the center of the universe--albeit a horrid one. To this day I feel awful walking into a crowded room, convinced that every eye is looking upon me with dark judgment. I'd like to be able to say that Renee Ziegler and the pure, unadulterated hatred that colored her eyes everyday in high school doesn't matter to me now, but that would be false. The truth is, they broke me down a little. They broke my spirit some. Because I don't wear my crazy-ass flashy weird clothes anymore. I can't stand to be in front of people for speeches or even dancing. It's too scary. I hope I can get some of that back, but I don't know if I will. Rot gets into you, no matter how strong you want to be. It spreads and eats, and you realize, one day, that you don't even know what your dreams are anymore. Dear Bully--you have succeeded in forever altering me, and taking from me a lot of what I should have been proud of.
If anyone wants, feel free to share your bully stories. It kinda helps.
2 comments:
People were mean to me sometimes, but nothing that ever made me feel like I was being bullied. In 2nd grade, some of the girls teased me from time to time for playing with a boy at recess -- a boy who was FAR more nice and interesting than they were (and, it turned out, gay). A boy in my 3rd grade class called me "Cigarette" for a week before he got tired of it. In 6th grade, my two "best friends" -- Kaarin and Aubrey" -- refused to talk to me for a week, except to say mean things, and to this day I don't know what that was all about. But that was all "normal" childhood meannness, nothing on par with bullying, because it always went away. There was no long-term damage.
In junior high, I seemed to slip off the meanness radar, probably because my dad was popular and well-respected and in the same building. And in high school, I managed to maintain my invisibility -- a good thing, I suppose. It seems that I was lucky that way.
Nathan's mom was a bitch, by the way. Doesn't she know how absolutely and utterly detrimental it is for a teenage girl to have an adult confirm her made-up insecurities? My god.
Also: in preschool, I was dumb enough to be mean to Amanda Senn. I don't remember it being on the level of bullying, but for about a week, it seemed like a good idea to tease her when we were standing in line. (I can't remember what we were standing in line FOR, nor can I remember what I teased her ABOUT; we were 3 or 4 years old.) She must not have realized that she was a lot bigger than me, and I must not have realized that her being bigger than me was potentially problematic, because I definitely recall teasing her more than once, seemingly without consequence. I don't remember why I stopped. Maybe I realized it was stupid, or maybe the teacher caught me, or maybe Amanda told me to back off -- whatever the case, it didn't last for long. Thank goodness.
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