A Letter to My First & Second Bully

This letter is about two kinds of bullies. The first kind is the bully who is going through something tough and they’re just getting their anger out on someone weaker than them. The second kind is the one who either does it for popularity or just gets a thrill out of making someone suffer. This is a letter to my first two bullies; the first was someone going through something, the second smiled whenever I cried.

Dear my first bully,

I shouldn’t really call you a bully. You’re a human being. I don’t actually remember how you made me upset because all I remember now is the aftermath. You probably don’t recall, as we’re practically strangers now, but after we found out that you were going through a divorce, we became friends. Your mum and my mum were friends for a while too. I think we once went to pottery together.

I’m glad you were my first bully, though, because you made me realise that not all bullies are monsters. You were angry and hurt and you took it out on me and that’s okay. Although I wasn’t used to it when you bullied me, you helped me to develop an ignorance for what was to come, though it still hurt every single time they bullied me. I know you were a sweet boy behind it. It’s the school’s fault, usually, because they make up stuff about anti-bullying policies that they never stick to.

I forgave you so soon after because I saw the real you. You were only young too; we both were. I’m sure that you learned that it was wrong and that it never happened again. In fact, I think I’m positive of that, because of how a bully became a friend. Though we went our separate ways years ago, I still remember you. I think I won’t forget you.

Dear my second bully,

Nice friends you have to help you insult me. It would be harder to do it alone, wouldn’t it? You always have to come in a gang of three, like the movies, but you’re the ringleader, also like the movies. You never picked on anyone else whilst we were in the same class; not even that boy who everyone else picked on — you were friends with him. It was specifically me. Specifically me. Why? Because I was a girl but I wasn’t one of the popular, pretty ones. I had my hair tied up and I didn’t wear mascara. I also didn’t have my ears pierced. Bare in mind that I was eight, yet everyone else deemed it normal for girls of eight to be coating themselves in stuff. I don’t get it. But I was still a girl: weaker, more vulnerable than a boy. You also knew that I didn’t have confidence, regardless of the fact I stuck my hand up several thousand times. I did that to try and make myself feel better, but it always made me feel worse. Your sneering didn’t help. It never did.

You were also the type of bully that I would never report; you made sure of that. You were subtle, but threatening, and you made me cry in the toilets. Our teachers hated me (because I cried all the time), so they just moaned about me being a cry baby in parent evenings. I think my parents were shocked, but it meant that you could continue doing what you were doing. I didn’t cry much until I came into your path. Yours and theirs; all of the bullies, but you were definitely the leader. I could always tell that. You did it for an ego boost, a popularity boost, security. You needed to feel like you had value because you never cared for class, so your grades weren’t the best; so you bullied me.

Still, it made you smile. It always made you smile, and that sickens me. Funny how sick rhymes with your name, isn’t it? You were another boy, just like my first bully, but you never became my friend. I will also never forget you, because if you hadn’t happened, maybe it never would have gotten so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t have had crippling anxiety for years to come; anxiety so bad that important grades suffered. I would tap my fingers through exams, thinking and thinking about how my life came to that point. And at one stage, I came back to you. And I was always disappointed with my results. Always disappointed. I think I could have done better; I certainly studied a lot. I think all of it was because I couldn’t focus. I just wanted to get out of that room and run out of that gate, all of the time. Maybe you were involved in some way, psychologically messing with me, even though I hadn’t been at your school for a few years.

Thank you for making my life a misery.

Thanks for reading this post. If you’re getting bullied, it’s tough, and sometimes no one will help you (at least, in my case) but you will always get online support. I am always here and so are so many other people. It’s a hard time but you can get through it. 

Lia

 

Am I Fat?

That was a rhetorical question by the way, so don’t answer it. 😉

I’ve suffered from depression for a long time, probably since I was about eight, but it was never diagnosed until I was about twelve, when my parents found out I’d been causing harm to myself. Depression is something that doesn’t just get better with an “it’ll be fine”. When you’re told how worthless you are for a long time — at school, you believe it, and it will never go away. I was once a really confident and bubbly kid, turned into something unsure and assumptive because of what people have said, because of what I have said to myself.

Despite having some really caring friends now, I still know some people that make me feel rubbish, but I can’t do anything about it. They make me feel like everything I say or do is wrong, that it’s my fault. Maybe it is my fault, but I’ve been called wrong so many times that I don’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore. It’s like it’s been put in a blender and mixed together. I can’t understand it. Often, people say that what I consider wrong is right, and that what I consider right is wrong. Then other times, they don’t. It’s confusing.

So, this leads me to the title of my post, my depression often leaves me turning to simple comforts. Sometimes, that simple comfort is food. I might binge eat sometimes. Other times, however, I don’t eat at all because I realise how disgusting I was being. I don’t seem to have an in-between. I feel really fat, really really fat, despite the fact that I’ve been told I’m not. I just can’t stop thinking about my weight — I even got a treadmill for my birthday to try and lose weight. But I feel sad and I feel fat and I feel horrible too. I don’t feel like I have any positive characteristics. I’ve certainly been told by people that I don’t and the only time I’ve been talked about positively is to do with my skills, which is just to do with what I can do, not what I am as a person. So I don’t really know where I stand.

Am I fat? Am I horrible? Am I really worthless? Do I listen to the voices inside me telling me that I am?

I guess I’ll never know, really, as much as people tell me that I’m great blahblahblah or that I’m awful blahblahblah — both types of people could be lying, but it’s hard for me to identify the truth and the lie. Because what people believe is their truth and if that person believes I’m a bad person, then I am a bad person.

I just want some answers, proper answers, ones that shoot through my body like an electric shock. I don’t want to be confused anymore.

Thank you for reading this post,

Lia 🙂