I died in the sixth grade. Perhaps not death in its purest form; a stopped-heart, doctor-call-it, ER kind of death, but it was a very distinct death, nonetheless.
I vaguely remember the person I was before it happened. Out-going, compassionate, smart, and sometimes overbearing. Positive that the sun rose and set with the knowledge of her parents, that people were inherently good, and that wars could be stopped if everyone could just get over themselves and say they’re sorry. Then? I flat-lined.
Back then I was part of “The Crew”. You know, that group of girls that everyone notices. The trendsetters. If the crew wore sleeveless shirts Wednesday, then the mall would be sold out on Thursday. I was old blood, inducted in by demographic and logged play hours. It was definitely not due to my “cool” factor. I can remember the very moment when the glass shattered, and my membership was revoked.
We were in the sixth grade when the crew planned a sleepover. It was a big deal. To me, that meant that an epic amount of fun was to be had. Sleepovers meant make believe, cartoons and Barbie fests. It seems I missed the memo that sixth grade was the time to grow up, because when I showed up in pink overalls and pigtails (listen, judgy, it was a different time) I was met by the cool gazes of four other girls sporting side ponytails, ready to pump “Ace of Base” (different. time.) and dish about boys. I almost called my Mom right away for a pickup, but held out, hoping that this new facade was just a pre-curser to the fun and chocolate milk that would inevitably come once our coolness was established. Boy was I wrong.
Even at the tender age of 11, I knew a giant fissure had erupted between them and I. They were 11 going on 17, but I was content to be a kid for a while longer. Not long after that night, I received a recess-note signed by The Crew. They no longer wished any contact with me for the following reasons: I was a crybaby. I was uninteresting to them, and I did not appreciate cool things.
The Crew had broken up with me. It was elementary school death. I cried. They said “see? we were right” and sauntered off to bask in their coolness elsewhere. News of my banishment spread like wildfire and although most of The Crew were in my class, I quickly became persona non-grata to the entire sixth grade. No one would talk to me, except to hurl an insult about my budget outfit, or lame hair so they could laugh while I cried. I couldn’t believe the scope of my banishment could permeate so far, so fast.
Several girls approached me when no one was looking to explain their participation in the pack mentality, but they didn’t get far before a witness would come into view and they’d back quickly away. I’m positive that most of you think I’m being dramatic. If you’ve been there, you know that I’m really not. I was an A student, who couldn’t speak to a single schoolmate without suffering a complete meltdown. Queues to the library would end with me being shielded by the teacher for my own emotional protection. Terrible things were written about me on the bathroom wall that I wouldn’t fully understand until years later.
Eventually, it got so bad that my parents had to pull me out of school. With only weeks left, my teachers consented. I missed all the fun stuff, like sports day, and the grade six Water Park trip. I could only imagine what horrors they could think up for me on the stair-climb to the best waterslide. I couldn’t take anymore. The person I was died in the sixth grade.
That was the first year I ever called home from summer camp, homesick. Something in me had broken, and my parents didn’t know how to fix it. They had no choice but to send me to junior high in the fall. Now a little fish in a big pond, my social status was less noticeable, though a few new kids picked up on the animosity of The Crew that still followed me around. I was invisible.
One day after school I was biking home when a group of girls surrounded me, led by the top dog of The Crew. She was the only original member present, but she had succeeded in poisoning the minds of four other girls I didn’t know. Panic set in and I tried, in vain, to talk my way out of the situation. It became clear that wasn’t going to happen when my words were met with violence. “BITCH!” one of them screeched, slapping me soundly across the face. Cheek stinging, I couldn’t help but think about the fact that I didn’t even know this girl’s name. I fought back and with a few strategic kicks, I managed to free my bike and get home. The bright red handprint on my cheek put a look on my Dad’s face I will never forget.
The next day we met with the vice principal. He made some lame remark about the lack of witnesses and made us sign a contract saying we’d avoid each other in the halls. The girls backed off, but the damage had been done. I spent the rest of the year with my head down, not meeting anyone’s eyes or raising my hand to offer an answer in class.
In the eighth grade, my Dad convinced the school to allow me to into advanced placement, and it was the best thing we could have done. I met three girls who carried me through the next two years. I was dead in the sixth grade and spent seventh in purgatory. I was resurrected in eighth, but not without some scars from my former life. My carefree positive attitude was gone. I no longer had absolute faith in the inherent goodness of people. I became a skeptic. I began to see the world’s problems as unsolvable. Occasionally pieces of my old self would surface, but I would shove them away when I got stung for sharing myself too quickly.
I’m now 28 and married. I often wonder who I might have been had I sailed through those years without incident. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be a writer, or a gamer, or proud to be a geek. I doubt my hair would be consistently dark, or that my Dad would call me a cynic. I probably wouldn’t be as driven as I am. Maybe Derek and I wouldn’t be so compatible. I never regret who I’ve become, only how I had to get there. I can’t figured out whether we could have done anything short of a complete personality makeover to avoid the bullying. It terrifies me to my core thinking that some day my children may go through the same kind of emotional death, and I will be powerless to help. I wonder if they are dying earlier these days?
I was lucky enough to be reborn, and strong enough to repair. Some kids who have less support than I had aren’t so lucky, and things like Columbine happen. Most of the parents of the kids who bullied me would’ve been devastated had they witnessed their kid’s actions. Some of those same kids are now my friends on Facebook, and I guarantee they have no idea of the hell I experienced. It is with this confession that I’m pleading; Parents, please talk to your kids about bullying. Talk to them about their choices and their words. Try to get them to understand. It may not always work, but it’s a start. Let’s avoid another sixth grade death if we can.
Rachel Langer is a writer, producer and social media junkie from Vancouver BC Canada. Rachel writes mostly for TV and the web, and is currently producing her first short film alongside her director husband, whom she also co-writes with. Follow @rachlanger on Twitter to follow her journey.
I died in 5th grade. It was awful and just as you explained. Complete and total shut out by cool and uncool alike. I’ll never forget it.
I’m teaching my 4 year old boys to be kind and give people a chance. There is a boy at school that they did not like at first who is now a friend. We talk about that a lot.
As a middle school teacher, this also speaks to me. I hurt for all my nerds. I was a nerd. Well, am one.
I just want to take them aside and tell them how great it will be when they find ‘their’ people. But, it’s hard to believe when you’re in it.
Great piece. Thank you so much.
6th grade was the beginning of the end for me. Thankfully, I had already met “my” people. They didn’t care that the cool kids treated me like a pariah. When I wanted to hide my face in the hall, they stuck by me. Now at 32, they’re still my people.
Thank you for reading, it was definitely a challenge to put it out there, even after all these years. It makes me happy to know that you’re talking to your kids about giving others a chance, even if they seem to operate on a different frequency at first.
this made me so sad for you, and what you went through as a preteen… those years can be terrible and unforgiving, and I’m SO HAPPY that you were able to get through it with your two friends, and have come to an understanding with yourself about it.
I definitely didn’t have it that bad, but I was nowhere near “the crew” status either. I was that girl that was a little heavier than everyone else, and a total tomboy, who cut off all her hair and wore charlotte hornet starter jackets.
yeah….I get it
I died in elementary school. But, naive as I was, I didn’t stop believing in the goodness of people then. The same girls killed me over and over, until they finally won. To this day, many many decades later, my stomach still clenches if I see them. Yes, I have good friends now. But no one helped me back then. And it has definitely affected how I see the world and form relationships.
I was a ghost between 6th and 9th grade. My parents moved us from a military area where kids came and went all the time to a small town where everybody had been together since birth and even their parents had been together in high school. In ninth grade, I refused to go out to the bus because I was getting my ass discreetly kicked every day in gym. (Girls in “that group” would run by me on field hockey day and each would hit my ankles HARD with their hockey sticks. I had the same purse as someone else, and she threatened to tear it to shreds if I EVER brought it to school again. I made my mom think I hated it. I’d get shoved into the bleachers, which I would of course blame on my clumsiness. I wasn’t stupid enough to call anyone out.) My mom finally made me talk about it and promptly called my gym teacher who said she had noticed, but didn’t think I wanted her to step in. I didn’t. She did anyway after that, and before I knew it, it was tenth grade. I had people to sit with at lunch and people generally respected me. Total turnaround.
To this day, my boyfriend thinks I hate other women. It’s not true. I have some great girlfriends that I love and I get along with women pretty well. I just can’t deal with the “dumb and mean” crowd. Those were the girls who tortured me for years. I still have some prejudices, but the difference is that I don’t put up with the attitudes anymore. I’m awesome. And no one is going to attempt to kill me off again.
It’s funny you should say that about your boyfriend, my husband and guy friends comment often that I don’t seem to like other women. This isn’t the case, but it takes me a long time to trust them. I’m glad I’m not the only one who has been working through these battle scars! Thanks for sharing!
After reading this and your responses it really makes sense to me why I have more guy-friends then girl-friends. I also find myself cringing when I see these people from my past. I remember being mocked and tortured in school until I finally snapped and fought back…litterally…just hoping that if I fought back people would leave me alone. It only made things worse. I had one or two friends through school and I was okay with that, but once they moved on to be with the more cool crowd I shut down. I describe myself in high school as wallpaper, everyone knows it’s there, but no one really pays much attention to it. Now as an adult I can see how my past is what made me who I am today, and I love who I am today. I am finally happy, have a close group of friends and love my life. I wish I could go back to myself in junior high and tell me “yeah, the next ten years or so are totally going to suck, I’m not going to lie to you, but when you get to your future, it is so going to be worth every last day”.
You speak my heart. I was lucky or unlucky in having parents who moved constantly, no we were not in the military. I was the new kid always. The smart, tall, clumsy, new kid with divorced parents. I finally escaped at a state funded boarding Math and Science high school. It saved me.
It was eighth grade for me. It wasn’t a complete and total shut out and there was no violence, but it might as well have been. By my freshmen year I was in a deep, dark depression that I couldn’t pull myself out of. Thankfully one of the girls noticed what was going on, bucked the trend and went to her mother who went to my mother. I got the help I needed. I came out of it a whole lot stronger and a whole lot less tolerant of bullshit. In the end I think it helped me through high school because I had already learned what was important and popularity wasn’t one of those things.
Any middle school teacher can tell you that girls drama is the WORST. Yes, boys fight, but those are typically just physical altercations that result in a good smack down followed by bonding over some lame video game like nothing ever happened. Girls, though, are masters of deception. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been told by students that “Susie” is a bully to my complete and utter surprise. They are much more covert in their attacks, and one of their most popular tactics is to isolate their target. I’m so sorry that you had to endure that pain. For every girl in your shoes, I try so hard to banish it in my classroom.
Though not as violent and absolute as yours, I had my own 6th grade death. I lost all friends without warning, and by 7th grade, I was the girl who needed all the boys’ attention.
Similar thing happened to me in year 8 (I think that is 7th grade, age 12)
One girl set out to completely destroy me as she thought I was trying to steal her friend. She spread rumours, mocked me openly, turned my friends against me. Luckily I met some lovely people as a result who were much better friends in the long run than the original ones I thought I had.
It is a horrible thing to go through, but I like to think it made me stronger and more empathetic.
Ugh, I relate to this so thoroughly that I’m having palpitations. I’m so sorry you went through this, too.
I, too, died in 6th grade. Although I was not outwardly bullied (for some reason, my reputation as smart and nice allowed me to avoid that particular hell), I was invisible. I would leave my home in the morning and not say a word again until my parents got home from work. I had always been very outgoing before that, and it was awful. My parents figured out something was wrong when I started to lose weight and developed very disordered eating, and switched me to a different school, which was a godsend. In 9th grade, there were some lame attempts at bullying, but I was part of a group of friends and even then, most of the vitriol was aimed at one of my guy friends, who was gay. And having a group of friends around made all the difference in the world. It’s interesting that this happened to most of us around the same time – one of my high school bffs was ostracized, too, in 7th grade. Girls can be absolutely horrible to each other and the scars run deep. To this day, she will turn and run to avoid bumping into the girl (woman) who banned her from their group, 20 years ago.
The strangest thing for me, is that some of these women, who were once so terrible to me, have absolutely no idea what they’ve done. They’ve added me to Facebook, and treat me as if we never had a blip in our friendship. I thought about it for a long time before accepting their friend requests. At first I wanted to spit vitriol, and rage, but then I thought about the times I’ve hurt people in the past, occasionally without even knowing it. How will they ever know if I’m not brave enough to share. So now, I’m going to share this article with my feed, and see what happens. Wish me luck!!
I hope one of those girls has the balls to step up and post their apology!!!
I don’t expect so. I have a feeling they all believe this post is about someone else. The lies we tell ourselves are powerful sometimes. Either way, it feels good to let my side out. =)
You know, that’s interesting, because I (as an adult) was reading “Queen Bees and Wannabes” (a FASCINATING read, by the way) and I was happily labeling the girls I knew in junior high. And as I got to thinking about it, I realized that later, as I constructed a group of friends of my own, I was the Queen Bee (albeit, a far more sensitive one, after my experiences, and I tried my best to include all of the other girls who were ostracized). But what I feel badly for is this: near the end of 8th grade, the girl with whom I’d been best friends and I began to grow apart. We were going to different high schools, our personalities were starting to change, and were just we not the same people we’d been in the previous years. And although I never intentionally tried to hurt her, I didn’t know how to end a friendship gracefully, honestly, and respectfully. I never stopped talking to her, and I was never mean to her, but I did stop calling as much, and I did withdraw myself from her immediate vicinity, and I know that this hurt her very much, and although I felt just awful about it, I didn’t know what else to do. And I have felt the urge to apologize, even though I know (through the grapevine) that she has gone on to have a successful career and is married with children. And I have never had the guts to contact her via facebook (although I’d love to catch back up with her) because I’m scared. I’d like to believe that she would accept my apology for how I behaved, but I’m scared that she might not. Kudos to you for accepting those friend requests. And you’re right – each probably thinks you’re referring to a different friend. It was a slap to my ego that someone else might think of me as the mean girl.
Mine was 6th grade. We met at a friends house after school as we always did and I ate a piece of candy that the one girl thought was gross and from that moment on those two girls (plus others they recruited) made my life hell for one year. Came out of no where and when we were all in high school they started talking to me again and wouldn’t you know, I let them. As an adult now, if I saw those girls now, I would tell them what nasty, hateful girls they were.
I can relate to this, oh how I can relate. Girls are vicious and just plain cruel. One day you are in and the next day you are out. I died many deaths from 6th grade to 12th grade. I have a 31/2 year old daughter and thinking about what happened to me and to others makes me so scared for her and also so determined to make sure she is not one of those mean girls. We talk even now about how everyone is our friend and how we play with and include everyone. I hope every parent does the same and we can start to eliminate this hatefulness that kids have to go through. It’s not ok. Ever.
I think we all have “died” at one time or another. I know for me, I was in 5th/6th grade and it wasn’t until I was a junior in high school that I was “alive” again. Although I don’t regret the person I have become (actually I am very proud of what I have done, and what I aim to do), sometimes it hurts to think about the reality behind how I got to today. I now work with 4th and 5th grade girls in an after school setting, and it breaks my heart to listen to them, already so aware of too many things….
I was lucky in the sense that, I didn’t fit in with the cool crowd starting in middle school, but I also met my life long BFF outside of school that year. She and softball saved me from what you experienced. I never did find my closest friends in school, but for some reason even at a young age I had a confidence about me that would have stopped any one from bullying me (that and the very real threat of bringing on the wrath of my brother and sister.
Your story makes me so sad, because I am sure it happened when I was younger and I know it happens now. As I look at my 3 year old girl and the person she is now…bold, confident, totally secure in who she is and how awesome she is, I tremble at the thought of the day she comes home crying because someone has stepped on that fragile innocence. When that day comes I will totally lose my shit.
It is so sad to see so many of these stories. I thought I was the only one. Early on in 8th grade my whole group of friends literally dropped me and I never understood why. I was left alone with no friends at my middle school. I had to try and sit with people I barely new and try to get in their “group.” It was awful. It ended up with me landing in with some not so great people in 9th grade. Thank goodness my Mom got a job in another town and we moved. I ended up with great friends after that whom I still know and love.
I worry about this all the time now that I have a daughter. She is the whole world and as bright as the sun. What will I do if some stupid little girl tries to destroy her? Women can be AWFUL far worse than men to the psyche I think. THe weight of teaching her that she doesn’t need to measure her worth against a man and also to not be broken down by bullies (let alone be one) literally leaves me breathless.
I really thought mine was an isolated incident. Until I read this. I feel like I somehow write this post in the middle of the night and put it up on your blog without remembering. Ambien maybe? I mean, this was me.
It was the end of 8th grade. We lived in the hi-desert in Southern California, and my grandpa was having open heart surgery in Ohio, so my family & I road tripped back there. Before I left, I was part of “That Group.” Everyone noticed us. I was voted most popular in the year book in 6th or 7th grade (completely irrelevant now that I’m grown – I can’t even remember.). I had tons of friends. I had a “boyfriend” who was part of the male version of “That Group.” When I came back from the trip to see my Grandpa, I was so excited to see my friends. I couldn’t wait to get back to school. On my first day back, one of the girls handed me a letter during passing period that was signed from all of them. They didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I don’t even remember their reasons why, or what the rest of it said, but I remember “dying” like that, too.
My mom had a meeting with the Vice Pricnipal, and nothing came of it. I was left to fend for myself, and to try and rekindle old elementary school friendships with girls I hadn’t had much to do with over recent years. (We were on year-round school then, and those old friends were on different “tracks” than me, meaning we weren’t in session at the same time very often.”)
My parents decided at the end of 8th grade that we were moving an hour away to another town in the desert, and I would start high school there. Despite the fact that I had virtually no friends left where I was, I was livid with them for moving me out into the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but broken promises. 2 weeks before middle school ended we were to have a Rennaisance Fair at school, all day long. No classrooms! There was this girl (I should look her up on Facebook) who suddenly decided she hated me. HATED. I’d never spoken to her before, but the rumor was that she was going to wait until I went into the bathroom at any given point in the day and beat me up. Well, she was a wildabeast, and she probably could have smooshed my face in, had she wanted to. I told my mom, and despite the fact that I really wanted to go to the festival, I took the day before as my last day, and I moved away. I remember as we drove away from campus, seeing that girl watching me leave through the fence. I flipped her off. I remember watching her mouth the words “That Bitch just flipped me off!!!” On to bigger and better things, I suppose.
Today, I’m thankful for what happened to me during those years. For the bullying and for the move. I met my (now) husband in that desolate town. I am who I am today because of what happened in Middle School, and because of that move. Maybe I’m a bit cynical, too, but that’s part of life I think. It’s not all rainbows and cupcakes for anyone, despite how they may portray themselves.
I think your post was beautifully written, and I want to thank you for doing it. All we can do is instill in our won children that they need to treat everyone with respect. I always tell my 4 year old, “You don’t have to be their friend, but you do have to be nice.”
Thanks again for sharing.
It makes me so sad to hear all these stories and know I have my own to contribute too. There was a phase in our school where punching people as hard as you could became popular and when it happened to me, I stood up for myself and reported it and not a day later, I was a social pariah.
These are the things that scare me as the parent of two young children. I remember in 7th grade when one of my very best friends from about the 1st grade decided she hated me. A few weeks earlier a stranger in 8th grade decided they didn’t like her and attacked her in the hall. I was included and protected her because we were walking together. I was even called in to a counselor’s office and told I was not to behave that way even though I was defending my friend. A few weeks later her and her little group just stopped talking to me and were very hurtful out of nowhere. I was lucky to have other friends who had been friends to us both and did not choose to ignore me. I also had other friends outside of our group from elementary school. At one point at the end of the year we were passing around year books and when hers was passed to me (on accident of course) she came up and smacked me in the head when my back was to her. I had no idea who it was but my immediate reaction was to protect myself so I turned around and slugged her. She never bothered me again but I hated that things “ended” between us like that. We continued through middle school and high school in the same schools but rarely spoke in any way. A couple of years ago she requested to be my friend on Facebook and I accepted. While I didn’t really care to be her “friend” I also didn’t want to continue a hate and hurt from so many years before. Thank you for sharing your story. We feel so alone in times like those but so many have walked that same road.
5th grade. It took a lot of years to come through. Fortunately I married someone who understood- went through it just as horribly as I did and got it. Got me. I hate that we had to suffer it- and I hate it more that my own daughters are going through this now. One has come through and reinvented herself, and another is in teh middle of it- and I don’t know how to fix it, just how to support her and love her and acknowledge it and take what action I can. But the damage is done with one moment of pain, and we carry it for the rest of our lives.
I love that it’s being talked about, in little waays like this, and big ways like the It Gets Better project. Thank you.
5th grade. Same week my parents announced their divorce. My BFF told me I was “co-dependant” (I’m serious). It was hard. 6th grade was hellish, I felt so alone.
I’m going through a 2nd death now. My two best friends have dropped me. Blocked me on FB. But I feel so much stronger and confident in myself, that it’s okay this time.
I’m just grateful to know I’m not alone. Thank you.
You’re not alone! I’m realizing I never was, either. I just didn’t have a voice.
My death was in 9th grade. I was a member of the marching band and there were about 6 other band members and myself who had the same class for lunch. We always sat together during lunch and I never suspected a thing. One day I went to get lunch and they all said they either weren’t eating or would be up in a minute. When I got back to the table my books were there along with a note laying on top. Everyone else had left. I sat down and read the note, they no longer wanted me sitting with them at lunch but wanted to remain friends. I remember it was written by 2 different people. I recognized both sets of hand writing both of them girls. My heart sank to my feet. I never had the good clothes or other things most kids had. We were dirt poor and lived on a working farm. I never told anyone about that letter and went on as if nothing happened except I sat alone at lunch and went through the remainder of that year and the next as a shell of my former self rarely talking to anyone even those who still wanted to be my “friends”. When I got to 11th grade I was taking several weighted classes and those kids were amazing. It didn’t matter what I wore or who I was. They didn’t care. I made some great friends and we stuck together through the remainder of our high school days. Now I have 2 kids, a daughter who is 15 and a freshman in high school and a son who is 11 and in 5th grade. I don’t worry so much about my daughter bullying or being bullied. She is friends with everyone regardless of who they are. My son on the other hand is a different story. I don’t worry about him bullying but being bullied. He has a syndrome which makes him socially underdeveloped and all he wants is to be friends but the others seem to shun him. I know he has a couple of friends in school who don’t treat him any differently and I hope that is enough to carry him through the tough years. I know he is very tender hearted and I’m afraid the momma bear in me will come out if anyone ever says anything to hurt his feelings. Someday before he hits the middle school I plan on sharing my story with him and hopefully let him know about how some kids will be so maybe he won’t be taken by surprise if it ever happens to him.
Thank you for sharing your story. It’s very inspiring to hear others stories and how they prevailed.
I am so sorry this happened.
I am trying to remember any incident that would be similar to this from when I was young, and I *thankfully* can’t recall any.
After reading the comments I am shocked and saddened at the general consensus that girls are mean and bitches and conniving and volatile and just plain awful. I have a two year old daughter and this makes me very very worried for her future. I was not one of those girls and I was never on the receiving end either. So my question is – how do I raise her to be nothing like “those girls” and how do I teach her to stand up for herself if she encounters “them” . And how will I know if shes the one that does the bullying, like you said, the parents of the girls that did that to you, probably had no idea?
How can every parent that reads this say they will teach their daughters better, yet there are still girls out there like this?
Again, I am so sorry this happened.
Thanks for the response. The fact that you are aware is half the battle. I watched an experiment on Dateline NBC where they put some real kids in with actors who began bullying each other. They showed that it only took one person who was brave enough to stand up to the bullies, and then others would follow suit. It takes courage to go against the grain. That’s a conversation we all need to have with our children. Not just about being nice, but about the courage to do what is right.
This so felt like I was reading about myself. Mine didn’t happen until high school but it killed me. And I have never been the same. Crying in the corner of study hall. The verbal abuse can bring anyone down and then to throw that slap on top of it is just too much. I love how school officials always say something about witnesses. If course there were no other witnesses. It just breaksy heart that children can be so cruel to each other. There is a Lifetime movie called Cyberbully and every time I watch it it makes me cry because it brings up all of those bad memories. Can you even imagine what our bullying experiences would’ve been like if we had all of these social networks when we were young. I shudder to think what would’ve happened. I make it a point to talk to my kids about bullying whenever it comes up. I am fearful for them. They have both already had some experiences with bullying and they are only 6 and 10.
Sorry about the typos. It is hard on my phone but I just had to respond!
3rd grade was the year it started. I attended a small private school with a population of no more than 15. My brother, who stayed there until 8th grade, graduated amongst 11 kids. A small class means you either fit or you don’t and I didn’t fit. It was minute back then, but scary nonetheless. I switched to a new school in 4th grade, a larger one where Caucasian was the minority. My parents always pounded the idea that studying and learning was important the moment I could read. This double edged sword made me an outcast, joined with my incredulous likeness to harry potter; bowl cut and circular glasses. I was also misdiagnosed as bipolar by my therapist at the time, so I was taking 16 pills a day; pills for depression, anxiety, concentration, even mood swings and anger which I have long ago realized was a side effect to the mixing of pills that should not be mixed. The irony of exacerbating a problem rather than fixing it was not realized by me until much later, however. The bullying began when the new kid came; popular and beloved by all. The acceptance of my being there with the “cool kids” as a means to an end. They tried to beat me up several times, but a coward is something I’m not and I’d always go down fighting. 2 broken noses to bullies who underestimated the pent up rage of a nerdy kid and countless suspensions, regardless of my explaining the self defense circumstances. I was diagnosed with chronic anxiety by the age of 12. Every day the fear and yearning to hop out of my own skin caused my stomach to disagree with everything from food to air. My stomach felt as thought daggers were jabbing me every few minutes and I habitually began to throw up, every single day for year and a half, excluding a minor few. I remember once when my mother dropped me off at school, I threw up on the curb and a teacher who saw stated that I should go home immediately, etc etc, the usual response. This being such a commonplace act for me by this time, I said, “Don’t worry about it”, and walked off. The bullying stopped being so physical because it was more of a martyrdom for the kids who tried, suspension, pain, no real gain. So the verbal became their drug of choice. Rumors of me being “gay” which at the time was painful because I was different enough and I did not want any more untrue features differentiating me from the rest of the herd. I was unapproachable. Anyone with some scrap of popularity avoided me like a plague and I could try to go near, but my presence was more so that of a court jester, making a fool of them self for the amusement of others, than an actual person. So I stopped trying to fit in and I started to read. I thought knowledge would be the key to my popularity. I read law books, psychology and medical text books, I even read the dictionary. The truth of this was that I may know a lot, but when a mere kid says words like malicious, malevolence, and ostentatious in every day speech, its like they’re speaking a foreign language. I’m not saying the words are difficult, but at that young of an age not one of the people I called my classmates could comprehend anything near a complex word. So I became the stranger still child. Finally the straw that broke the camels back arrived. After 5 years of suffering at their hands, the 8th grade trip arrived. Yosemite. I envisioned school trips as these great bonding experiences amongst everyone and hoped, dreamed, this would be my chance at fitting in. Like always I was a splinter in the side of the entire class. A nuisance, a weirdo. And they treated me like one. Hopes shattered after supposed happiness was met with insult after insult, I couldn’t take it. Being a boyscout I decided I’d make a noose and hang myself. Why live life if the only outcome is pain or sadness? I groveled and cried and wondered what my options were. I was always a strong believer in karma and even to this day hold it as a very important quality. I gave myself two choices; an ultimatum: Death and Life. Sounds simple, but it was a gambit. This is where my life changed, a complete epiphany. I told myself I could end it all and just be grateful the nightmare is ending or I could become what I envisioned as the perfect person. I choice to change, because I was not going to give up when I could give it one last shot. I am Italian and stubborn by nature so if there is a choice, I wanna take it just to find out what will happen. So my transformation began. My meager frame went to the gym to change from scrawny arms to a 5’5, 135 pound hulk who can bench 205. My shattered self esteem grew to my now strong and resilient joy of waking up every day. I met the love of my life in high school. I thought myself revolting and unwanted by all prior to finding someone who finishes my sentences and shares a past much like mine. My once scatterbrained, unfocused mind wanting to fly away became clear, calm, and focused and I am now a high school senior accepted into my first choice college with over $100k in merit scholarships and a very assured acceptance into a medical school program granting me a reserved spot the moment I graduate college. My girlfriend and I coined a phrase with each other; selfishly selfless. I would gladly help a friend, I love to be of help. We are both very emotional creatures. When my loved ones are happy, I am happy. When they are sad, I want to mourn with them. I say I have a major martyr complex because I have felt pain, I know what it’s like to be indifferent to the world, and I can handle it again because nothing could be as treacherous as what I experienced all those years ago.
Forgive my not being a girl but your story was touching and I wanted to share my experience as well.
Thank you for sharing. Guys girls, doesn’t matter. Just glad we all have a voice.
Middle school is unreal. I was incredibly lucky to have been homeschooled for much of my life, and to already be an introverted kid with most of my confidence and social strength drawn from my parents, when I entered my neighborhood middle school. People made endless fun of me for actually telling my crush I liked him; a girl told me she’d teach me to dance right before Valentine’s day and then never showed up to meet me; there was a dude who constantly made unfounded insults about my hygiene; one time kids threw dog poop at me on the way home from school. By the grace of my prior upbringing, I didn’t take this stuff personally and saw it for the ridiculous, unjustified meanness that it was (although I wouldn’t come to classify it as cruelty and become outraged at its very existence until later). I didn’t die in middle school – possibly because I had no friends there to lose – but people certainly tried to destroy me. And I didn’t get out entirely unaffected: in high school, when I was at an alternative school where people were basically awesome, I would sometimes pass by my neighborhood high school, imagine running into one of those people I used to know, and my heart would start racing and my mind would start flitting through every possible insult they might throw, every argument and comeback I might need for such an encounter. Most of the time, I don’t find social cluelessness to be a particularly useful quality – but it may have saved me back then, even as it undoubtedly contributed to plight.
In sixth grade, my “other half” best friend dumped me for a prissy blonde who was way cooler and prettier and more popular and had way bigger boobs than me. I had helped her though her parents’ horrendously ugly divorce. She had leaned me and I on her. We had plans for high school and college and getting married at the same time…all of it. And then one day, in the gym bathroom, I got the same note. I was devastated.
I was never popular, so I didn’t get ridiculed…hell, most people at my school didn’t even know my name, and my class consisted of only 100 people. But I know how this feels. I wouldn’t be a writer, a cynic…a lot of things today, had this not happened. I dread the day I’m not able to shield my son from the bullies and bitches of middle school.
As a dad of teenage girl, I thank you for sharing your story. I’m surprised to find how horrible these young women will speak to each other (even in jest), and then how demeaning they can be to one another (and call it love). I’ve watched my girl struggle with her self-esteem and feeling like she doesn’t belong. You give me hope. Thanks.
That is the absolute best thing I can hear – Thanks, Jeff!
I’m Brittish so when I say that I “died” in primary 3 I should probably explain that I was around 7 or 8. The sad thing was it was mostly down to my teacher since she liked to “make an example” of me for my crappy handwriting. I dunno I think I used to be a happy kid before then but once the “adult” in charge had made me a target there wasn’t any stopping the awfulness. I started hiding myself away and refusing to meet people’s eyes. It probably took me until I was 18 to begin to come back from that. I guess there were some positive things to come out of it like my very sarcastic sense of humour which started out as a way of diverting attention away from my vulnerability but has now become one of the things that defines me as a person. I also would probably never have discovered gaming if it wasn’t for all that.
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I really respect that you can be that honest with yourself. Obviously you did not bully this girl, but we were all at a stage where sometimes honesty felt like the worst option and we didn’t know another way to react. I still feel like that sometimes when people ask me if we’re friends or if I like them, and maybe I don’t, but I want to be gentle as well as honest, in a way.
If I were you I WOULD contact her. Getting what you need to say off your chest can be freeing whether she responds positively or not, and what’s the worst that could happen? It may make her happy to know that you’ve reflected on it as much as you have. Take that chance and be honest, you’ll feel better.
Thanks for sharing!!
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