Time to Talk About Bullying

Today and this week seem like the perfect time to share a story from my childhood. To take the time to talk to you about bullying.

When I was a young boy, around 9 or so, I was once pinned against a door with a table. Two boys held it in place, whilst one called me names and threw an apple at my head. I couldn’t move or do anything; not that I’d have been able to do much, I wasn’t new to bullying. Being a child to a paralyzed father, that inability to move was scariest of all. They called me a freak, retard, fatty, whingebag and idiot.

The Cause

All this happened because a toy dinosaur my nan got me from the boot fair that weekend had gone missing from my bag and I got visibly upset. I shouldn’t have brought the toy in of course but it helped me feel safe in a dangerous place. When it had gone and this happened, it reinforced the idea that it was keeping me safe and this stopped because it had gone.

A little later they left and I pushed the table away and sat in the classroom crying. My teacher came in and asked me why I was upset this time. I started to explain, at the beginning with the toy and struggled to get her to move past the fact that it shouldn’t have been brought into school in the first place. In fact, we never got as far as what the others had done to me and I got 100 lines about my school bag not being a toybox.

Aftermath

When I got home later that day, my mum knew something was wrong. She asked and I wouldn’t talk. I couldn’t. Later when I had my bath, she saw the bruises and marks all over and said I was staying home the next day.

She spoke to the school, as she had done a hundred times before. Pleaded for them to sort this out and begged them to listen. In the end, all she got told was that I’m too sensitive, that boys will be boys and that one of the kids had a difficult home life and was letting off steam.

I went back to school a week later and it happened again. I told my teacher and she told me they were just playing and I misunderstood their intentions.

When I think back, I came out of that experience and all those like it convinced me that I was the issue in all things.

My Mental Health

You could say that I began to see my sensitivity as a weakness, my comforts as weird, I developed complexes about my intelligence and weight, began to question whether what I perceived as ill-intent as me not understanding and I became scared to stand up for myself or speak up.

At this stage, I was already an anxious and scared child who felt isolated and alienated by the world around him. I didn’t get things or understand people for the most part and they didn’t me.

But, I did (and do) have a mum that cared. An adult equally scared about how I was treated and the lack of empathy, warmth and support I was shown.

This Story Doesn’t Have a Happy Ending

I’m afraid, it didn’t work out in the end and this wasn’t the last time I was bullied last or had these kinds of thoughts.

No, truth be told; the feelings that come from all the times like this are something I still have to deal with on occasion but I’ve made awesome progress.

I share this story in the hope that those like me, like I was, know that they aren’t alone and that there are people out there who get it and they can talk to.