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

 

Advertisements

The School Book Tag

I suck at book tags because, you know, so many books, buttttt I did it! Woo!

 

Maths – A book that has two characters who equal perfection 

Image result

Now this book I read a long time ago but it is the dedication of Adam that held my heart. He didn’t ditch her; he stayed. The sequel was disappointing, though.

Biology – A book I would like to dissect

Image result

I LOVE THIS BOOK! It honestly made me think so much and I would love to read it again and dissect it.

Physics – A book with a lot of potential

Image result

I haven’t finished this book yet. It’s by the author of Cloud Atlas, one of my favourite books ever. It is so good so far, and so creepy. It definitely has potential.

Chemistry – A book I really bonded to

Image result

THE ENTIRE SERIES! Most sequels go downhill but they were just as amazing as the first. I love this series. I’ve even met the author in London!

English – A book that should be a modern classic

Image result

Yes, it’s another Patrick Ness book. Yes, it’s as amazing as the other one. Yet, this one definitely has classic potential. It’s awesome.

P.E. – A book that I raced to the finish with

Image result

This is really not a book I’d typically read. Actually, it’s completely different to my normal stuff. It was my dad’s book and he let me read it before him (because he takes forever). Honestly, it is so original and wow. I loved it. The research that went into it… Wow.

Music – A book that reminds me of a song

 

Image result

I’m not sure why but this book seems quite musical, as I read it, and I can’t say what song it reminds me of, but I definitely imagine a tune when reading it.

Okayy I’m going to nominate some cool people who follow me. Bare with, my WordPress is broken.

Alicia

Elm

Alice (because she needs to do a post ;D)

A New Chapter (because she also needs to do a post dude)

I would like nominate some cool new people but, um, my WordPress is broken so if you want to do this, JUST DO IT. IN FACT, I FORCE YOU. ALL OF YOU. 😀

 

 

The Pen of Worth

When I was at first school, we all had to write in pencils, until we were deemed ‘good enough’ for the handwriting pen. Now, I was a late developer too, learning to read and write later than other kids (though once I started, I couldn’t stop!), so at first school I was probably seen as “below average”. At middle school too. It wasn’t until secondary school that my ability went anything above “below average”. I even went above average in some subjects; not maths though, never maths. I think that was an indicator of my autism. Because I thought in a different way to the set tasks, I never felt good enough and I couldn’t get the grades, throughout the majority of my life.

Let me get back to the handwriting pen. Okay, so I was a late developer, and my handwriting could not be read very easily (though some teachers who cared had learned my handwriting, like it was some new language or something), so I did not get my handwriting pen. At the end of year three, everybody else in the entire year had a handwriting pen, except me. I even lied in middle school, saying that I’d received the handwriting pen, because I didn’t want to be seen as different.

This handwriting pen seemed to symbolise how worthy you felt as a person: the earlier you got it, the better. If you didn’t get it at all? Well, you suck, don’t you? It was such a small thing but it meant a lot and that was something that knocked my self-esteem. I was never worthy of that pen when everyone else was.

Why did a pen define us? What that pen did to me, to my confidence, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worthy of another pen. Maybe I was worthy of a different kind of pen.

Have you ever had small things knock back your confidence? If so, what?

Lia