Bullied

When I was in middle school, I was bullied constantly.

Bullied over small things, silly things, things that I look back on now and

wonder why in the world they even mattered.

Three instances come to mind, three of many.

The first involved the Burn Book. The idea stolen from Mean Girls,

to write nasty things about me every day,

to whisper about me and laugh at me,

to ask some of my peers to add to the contents of the book.

Thank God I wasn't on Facebook at the time,

or Twitter;

cyber-bullying would have made everything that much worse.

I am so thankful that I had a safe home to go back to.

The second event took place at the lunch table.

I had no place to sit; I was lost,

a stranger amongst people I had known since kindergarten.

All I wanted was a place to sit, but they

didn't want me to go near them.

They told me so, quite publicly, and then pushed my tray

off of the table and onto the ground.

The lunch lady yelled at me for making a mess.

They laughed when I walked away.

I've never felt so embarrassed in my life.

The third started with a stuffed bear.

A red stuffed bear;

one that I had won in a contest

and was quite attached to.

The summer before my seventh grade year,

I went to a camp and became friends with a girl.

I thought we were friends, at least.

She was a year older than I, and very popular

I discovered.

For her birthday, I wanted to get her something special.

I gift-wrapped the bear, and approached the girl

feeling suddenly shy

because all of her friends were looking at me like I was crazy.

I don't remember most of what she said.

Just the one word. “Dyke.”

Her friends laughed; she tossed the gift in the trashcan

unopened.

The rumors, they hurt so much more than anything else.

I thought a lot about death, then.

I was sure that nobody really wanted me around;

I fought with my parents,

took out my anger on my little sister, and

cried when my parents made me go to school.

I made deep scratches on my wrists with a dull screw that

I found on my bed stand

Not with the intention of permanently injuring myself,

but because I was curious and had read about it

in a book once.

I don't think that anyone but me knows how serious it got,

how close I was to emptying the bottle of anti-depressants

onto my tongue.

Ironically, the thing that stopped me from doing it was a fear

not of death, but of vomiting.

Yes, vomiting, the source of my childhood anxiety for years.

Middle school was the most trying time of my life.

Since then, I have formed solid friendships,

gained confidence in myself,

and tried to speak out against bullying when I see it.

I wish someone had stood up for me then,

but I understand that sometimes,

the most important thing to a middle schooler

is to fit in,

to stay off the radar.

And eight years later,

I forgive them for it.

Author's Note

This is dedicated to everyone who has experienced something similar. Things get better if you give them time :)

Reviews

[zainul]

You have endured many bad events.
Yet you are very genrous to forgive them.
You are a very nice person.
I enjoyed your lively poem.
Best wishes,
Zainul

[bpm]

thanks for your sharing Alma. How hurtful and sad. I'm glad you are doing well now.
Aunt Beth

[Tree]

A beautiful thoughtful, and heartbreaking write. Kids can be cruel, is what you have me thinking. I think it is every human beings responsibilty to give shelter to those who are lost, not to prey on a perceived weakness. I really felt this piece. Thank you for sharing