In Which No One Believed

Real life story about wanting to die

There's a really big problem with being a kid: no one believes you. If you tell adults things they already know, they'll believe you then. They already know those things, so clearly they are true. But if you try to tell an adult something new? Well, what the f**k do you know anyway, seeing as how you're a kid and all?

If an adult doesn't want to believe a child about the capital of a country they've never even heard of, or the average rainfall in any given rain forest, that's one thing. Ignoring basic facts than can be looked up in a textbook is stupid, but in no way harmful. It's when adults don't believe things kids say about themselves when the trouble starts.

See, adults think they know what's going on with kids. They're smarter than kids, they've experienced more than kids, and also there's that part where they were a kid, so they think they have kid thoughts and behaviors pretty much nailed down. The problem is that kids are high unpredictable, and so is life, so sometimes "child anomalies" pop up and it's up to an adult to recognize and deal with them.

I was not a happy child. Well, I was originally, but then I went to school and my life was hell. It was totally my fault though. I wasn't aware that "smart" and "nice" were two horrible attributes for a child to have, and that other children would promptly teach them the error of their ways with vicious teasing and bullying. So I got massively fucked up by tiny, adorable, cruel children from a very early age. And by "very early" I mean five years old.

This was back before people actually took bullying seriously, though why that took a while to happen is beyond me. So I received the time tested (and failed) advice of "just ignore them" and "sticks and stones" and "I'm rubber, you're glue". Let me tell you, it worked wonders...on ruining my self-confidence, self-worth, and general mental well-being by internalizing all the nasty things people said about a smart, nice person like me. And it's so much easier to bully a small child than it is to bully a high school student. That's something no one seems to realize. A high school student might deal with more physical stuff, sure, but they're not hurt by insults as mundane as "butt face" or "poop head".

When I was in fourth grade, I had a hellish teacher. The kind of teacher who tells the parents on Back To School Night, "I don't like girls. I prefer to have boys in my class." The kind of teacher who gives you detention for being unable to answer one question out of ten on your homework. The kind of teacher who seems to do this only to you and none of the other little girls. The kind of teacher who is so thoroughly evil that a child who once loved going to school is filled with enough dread to make her feel sick before school. When you added that to the already outrageous level of teasing from my peers, it did not equal anything good for my future.

There came a day when I was at a family friend's house waiting to be picked up by my mother after school. She was watching some afternoon talk show, and the guest was teaching the audience about depression. I was doing my homework and not really caring about the boring adult show when they started listing off the symptoms. Sadness, hopelessness, not enjoying things you once loved, feeling all of these things for seemingly no reason. All of the symptoms spoke to me and the things I had been feeling for some time. I said, "I have that" to the woman who was watching me, and she responded with, "No, you don't", and that was that.

An adult had told me I didn't have depression, and adults knew more things than kids, so clearly it was true. I went back to my homework.

In 6th grade I told my teacher I wished I had never been born. She brought it up with my parents and they told me I shouldn't say such things.

In 7th grade I told my teacher I wished I was dead. She brought it up with the school counselor, and the counselor told my parents it was "mild depression" and "just a phase".

In 8th grade I was finally taken to therapy for my "mild depression".

In 9th grade they finally saw fit to take my case seriously and put me on antidepressants. But just a low dose because "it's just a phase", after all.

In 10th grade I was hospitalized for a month after a severe anxiety attack.

And I can't help but wonder if maybe adults should believe kids a little more often.

Reviews

[f1rstperson]

Very well written and very heavy subject matter. I like how at the end the sentences get more curt, it adds a lot of emphasis to what you were going through and how long you had to put up with people not believing what you said you felt.

While I think you delivered your point very well, part of me would also like to see the piece start at "I was not a happy child." I think that would really get you into the piece faster.

I also think that perhaps in paragraphs 4-5 it would be more effective to portray the bullying and cruelty you went through with memories. Is there anything the kids said that really stuck with you and needled your mind? Was there any events that hurt you deeply, and then how did it feel when your mother told you to walk it off?

On the whole, I think it is a very strong piece of writing.