about bullying

[valis2]

I just read a link to a bullying story (link from atdt1991).

It hit really close to home. I'm sitting here thinking of the ways in which the bullying I experienced in my past echo in the present. It's like a bitter well inside of me that might never run dry. Like the author of this story, I fully expect those I meet to dislike me or not want to talk to me. I am always surprised when people want to be my friend or spend time with me. Going into any new social experience gives me the shakes.

I was a strange girl in elementary school, and I became stranger to my classmates when I changed grade levels, moving past third grade into fourth during the first month of the school year. The kids were older and taller and a little suspicious of me. I'm tall, so eventually I did manage to keep pace with the kids in my grade level, but as far as emotional maturity or social adeptness, I soon lost my footing. I managed to stay afloat through the rest of elementary school, mostly by being strange and hammy, but I made no new friends, and lost the few friendships I'd had because of the change in class.

In retrospect, I was completely unprepared for junior high school. My only sibling was an older sister was nearly seven years older than me and who was strictly forbidden from any sort of rough play or antagonistic behavior. And because I'd had so few friends and was so socially stunted, I was swallowed whole by junior high school. My home life was rule-oriented, so I was ready for rules, and even though I chafed against them, I understood them and wanted to follow them.

It mystified me when people broke rules or did antagonistic things toward each other. I had been taught not to hit or hurt, and to feel empathy toward those who had been hit or hurt, so junior high school was a horrible new world for me. I was introverted and moody, and I thought about strange things and wore strange clothes. I was definitely a target from the start.

What probably made me so entertaining was my over-the-top reactions. I'm sure I was amusing as hell. I gasp pretty loudly, and my face shows my emotions really well, and hurt comes through like a beacon. I'd get angry, too, but just could not get past the Do Not Hit rule, which made my impotent fury all the more entertaining, I'm certain. It was easy to get a rise out of me.

I made a couple friends, including a sad sack I felt sorry for, and it was one of the bitterest flavors in the well when she turned on me and used her mocking of me to secure herself a higher position on the social ladder.

The teasing was unending. The tormentors were sometimes complete strangers--kids I didn't even share a class with and who weren't even friends of the usual bullies. I was tripped. Things were stolen from me. I can even remember which things, all this time later. Gloves. Books. A Swiss army knife which was given to me by my father.

The bus was the worst. When the bell rang, I would grab my things and run, as fast as I could, to the bus, so I could sit behind the bus driver. It lessened their ability to mess with me. I learned this strategy the hard way, after having to tear a huge chunk of my hair out of my head because someone had put gum in it and I couldn't bear the feel of it flopping around. I still wonder what the bus driver thought when she found it on the floor.

The morning ride was much worse, actually, because I was on the second-to-last stop. And no one wanted me to sit next to them. I would get kicked off seats. I'd try to sit down in the aisle and the bus driver would demand I sit down on a seat, but wouldn't help when I was repeatedly kicked off. Once in a while someone would take pity on me, but it wasn't often.

I hated school. My grades suffered. In one class I sat in front of a kid who was a hoodlum, basically, and he made things horrible for me. And he made things horrible for the teacher, too, actually. He must have been held back, because he was at least two years older than me. I went up to the teacher after class one day and asked him if I could punch the hoodlum. The teacher said yes.

The next day, the hoodlum did something nasty, and I nearly did it. But I could not get past the fact that you Do Not Hit. And, staring the hoodlum in the eye, I saw how much worse it could get. How my life could be even more of a living hell than it already was. After class, the teacher rescinded permission to punch him.

I was desperate for any way out of this problem. One of the teachers I confided in just told me to ignore them, that it would go away. So I did. That made it even worse. I would pretend they didn't exist, so when I got tripped I'd just get up again like a robot and keep going. This was even more amusing than me shouting or insulting them, which I'd done a little of up until that point. So yeah, it got worse. And because I'd been given this strategy by a teacher, I couldn't fathom why it wasn't working, and I just kept trying to ignore them.

The last half of my eighth grade was the worst time of my life. I wanted to escape so badly. I withdrew completely. It felt like I was behind a waterfall, like I couldn't feel things properly any longer. I daydreamed about killing myself. I remember going into the ninth grade planning session and not caring, because I didn't think I'd be alive for it. I couldn't even imagine going through another year of that torture. My only problem was that I just couldn't figure out how to kill myself properly. I was terrified that it would go wrong.

My mom and dad were in the midst of their own worries, and I don't think they fully understood what was going on at first. Maybe they still don't, I don't know. I think my mom had been bullied, however, and even though they couldn't afford it, she took action and sent me to a private high school for my ninth grade year.

I will always be grateful for that, but not in the way you might think.

You see, this high school had a marching band. And you had to show up two weeks early for marching band practice (before school even started). So I did.

By the end of the first week, I was getting teased.

By the end of the second week, I was getting bullied.

Not one kid from my junior high school was there.

I had always assumed that it was the bullies. I always assumed it was their fault. That they were evil, sadistic little bastards and that I just needed to get away from them for my life to be perfect. I blamed them for every little evil action they took, for the horrible hopeless life I was living, for the bald patch on my head where I'd yanked out that hair.

When I came home that second weekend, it felt like I was waking up and really seeing myself. And I realized that I wasn't just a victim, I was acting like a victim. My reactions were so comical, my social skills so awful and awkward, and it all conspired to make me a beautiful target.

I spent the entire weekend coming to the realization that it wasn't the bullies, it was me. I had inspired this reaction in them. I had caused my own bullying somehow. They weren't blameless, not by a long shot, but they certainly weren't the full origin of my suffering. I'd made it myself with my own two hands. And it hurt to realize this.

I came to high school and I changed myself. I made myself ham it up, poke fun at things, laugh, anything. I forced myself to talk to people. I consciously became the Oddball, who is funny and goofy and strange. I did end up with a little teasing and a little bullying but it was nothing compared to what I'd gone through before. And by the end of senior year, I had friends (best friends, even) and I was sad to see high school end.

Of course, this is sounding pretty triumphant right now.

Nowadays, though, I see it as a mixed bag. On one hand, I adapted and made myself into someone more socially acceptable in order to protect myself. But on the other, that bitter well still flows inside of me. It's full of poison that I can only dilute a cup at a time, if that.

I went to a party several years ago, and met a bunch of new people. At one point I was introduced to a guy, and he made a crude joke about me within the first few lines of conversation. I think that most people would find him rude and offensive and just blow it off and forget about it within minutes, but I was horrified and stood there, frozen in shock for a split second, scared that even being an adult was no protection against this. Later, I dated a friend of his, who insisted that the guy was a complete sweetheart who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it.

For me, though, it was predator and prey, all over again, looking into the tiger's eye and shrinking in fear. I know--my gloves weren't stolen, I wasn't punched in the stomach in front of people, and I wasn't on the floor with all of my books and papers spread out everywhere with people walking all over them and laughing. But it was enough to take me directly back to that time, to feel it like a jolt of electricity through my spine.

Some things never change. I feel things too deeply, I crave acceptance too much, and I'm scared of other people, of their power. There are things you forget, and things you can't forget. I read the linked entry and could not help but remember feeling those things, and remember being so thoroughly miserable, and I understand only too well what she's talking about.

Unlike the author, though, my bullies were not so easily targeted. It wasn't a trio of identifiable girls. There were lots of them, and I don't remember most of their names, nor even their faces. And if they apologized? I don't know if it would even matter like it did for the author. I don't remember what was said; it's really not even individual events or people. It's about the echoes that I still feel from it, the way that I want to protect myself, how I get scared about going into new social situations. How this sort of thing does make one stronger, in a way, but also leaves one more vulnerable in other ways.

My first job after high school was at a Wal-mart-style store. One of my old tormentors began to work there as part of the cleaning crew, and after a few weeks, I could sense that he was working up to making fun of me. Eventually he did, calling me one of the old names he'd used in junior high school.

I turned to him and said, "Well, at least I'm not a janitor."

You may see this as a triumph, but I do not. You see, standing next to him was a guy who was a sweetheart, who had asked me out for a date at one point. Who was also a janitor.

---

Um. This is not meant as a Poor Me thing. I am trying to deal with this and understand it better, and it always helps to write it out, and share it. Especially because oftentimes people have similar stories, and to share just makes it feel more bearable. So please don't feel like you need to send me virtual hugs or anything like that. I just want to process this and think about it.

Comments

[droxy.livejournal.com]

been there and done that. the bus was the absolute worse. There was no escape. parents- utterly useless. Finally learned how to cope by researching what was wrong with me. Learned the whats and hows of what was going on. Doesn't stop it, but I knew. I also got a little perspective...I started clock watching and focusing on the future.

People are horrified when kids took guns to school and used them on fellow students, but there some us in society who know why they did. It's just that back in the 80s we never thought of doing it. I know a gal who dumped me as a friend, because I was "dragging her down" and I remeber this conversation vividly to this day. But I appreciated her directness and I told her I hoped she finds whats she looking for. This same girl wound up committing suicide two months later. Bullying and social dynamics are interesting. In my case what did not kill me made me stronger. But it also made me cynical of people and their "good intentions' and very observant on power motives.

[valis2.livejournal.com]

been there and done that. the bus was the absolute worse.

It was hellish. Every morning I spent waiting for it in agony. I didn't want to wake up in the morning because I knew I'd have to get on the bus.

I tore a piece of pleather from the seat on my last bus ride. I still have it.

I also got a little perspective...I started clock watching and focusing on the future.

I lacked perspective. I had no idea that it could end--it just seemed to drag on forever.

People are horrified when kids took guns to school and used them on fellow students, but there some us in society who know why they did. It's just that back in the 80s we never thought of doing it.

I had so many elaborate fantasies that my future self would travel back in time and show up and scare the hell out of all of them. At the same time, I was afraid that my future self wouldn't really be that scary. lol.

I know a gal who dumped me as a friend, because I was "dragging her down" and I remeber this conversation vividly to this day. But I appreciated her directness and I told her I hoped she finds whats she looking for. This same girl wound up committing suicide two months later.

Oh god, that's so very awful.

Bullying and social dynamics are interesting. In my case what did not kill me made me stronger. But it also made me cynical of people and their "good intentions' and very observant on power motives.

Yes, they really are fascinating. I am still interested in how bullying works, and how people deal with it or don't deal with it, and what happens to both bullies and the bullied.

[droxy.livejournal.com]

Seriously? You want to know? Ok. At the age of 15 or 16 I spent my summer "free time" in a public library in Michigan. It was quiet and cool and empty. I read. I read books on sociology (boring), books written for parents of teens (interesting but not effective), books written on empowerment (useful) and books written on personal destiny and "happiness" (also useful). I found odd books that were topics like "you are victim so what are you going to do about it" books. Actually those were very useful too.

From my reading I learned bullying can occur at all ages, it just gets more subtle as we age or more violent. I learned there are power dynamics. That means there is an aggressor and a victim. I learned as a victim why I was attracting aggressors, and what was the benefit the aggressors received from the power dyanmics. I learned what makes an aggressor, and why they are agressors. It is that last bit that gives the victims power over the agressors.

I learned from books that bullies are pathetic people. They are incapable of lifting themselves up or gaining self worth (or are abused or have some hidden horror themselves). Because of this they seek to destroy others in order for them to gain power. They seek out victims for a REASON. The victims they go after have attractors, as victims we have "light" and are often emotionally sensitive. I am actually acutely emotionally sensitive, I just learned how to hide it very very well.

The bullies really want to destroy your light. it is the same in domestic abuse actually.

I still carry a lot of anger. But I know how to constructively use my anger to my benefit, many people do not. This is a legacy of my victim experience.

I could be an expert on bullying. So once I know how to managed it, I fought back. I could fight back in extremely ugly ways with the knowledge I had. Knowing the cause helped me find my cure. Yet to this day the radar has never turned off. This is another legacy of my victim experience.

I am very sensitive to power dynamics and control issues. This is one reason why I vehemently oppose a lot of current legislation in the US. (Its not about "caring" it is about power dynamics set up to create victims. I know control when I see it. Every recent law chips away removing more of our control as individuals and we have no recourse except through the controller- hence the victim scenario, its being stuck on the bus again. I do not like it one bit. I want my bike and never to get back on the bus again. Except the bully wants my bike and is going to throw me onto the bus unless I fight back.)

[valis2.livejournal.com]

From my reading I learned bullying can occur at all ages, it just gets more subtle as we age or more violent. I learned there are power dynamics. That means there is an aggressor and a victim. I learned as a victim why I was attracting aggressors, and what was the benefit the aggressors received from the power dyanmics. I learned what makes an aggressor, and why they are agressors. It is that last bit that gives the victims power over the agressors.

This is absolutely fascinating and makes so much sense. I know that my "victim" glow is definitely something that people can spot and take advantage of in some cases.

I learned from books that bullies are pathetic people. They are incapable of lifting themselves up or gaining self worth (or are abused or have some hidden horror themselves). Because of this they seek to destroy others in order for them to gain power. They seek out victims for a REASON.

Wow. This is so thought-provoking and makes so much sense. By preying on those weaker than them, they build themselves up.

I could be an expert on bullying. So once I know how to managed it, I fought back. I could fight back in extremely ugly ways with the knowledge I had. Knowing the cause helped me find my cure. Yet to this day the radar has never turned off. This is another legacy of my victim experience.

I wish I had learned the same things. I never understood it at all, and couldn't understand why I was being targeted and humiliated. I spent so much time just being miserable and afraid. It didn't help that I had very little self-worth.

Thank you for sharing this--it's very helpful and interesting!

[droxy.livejournal.com]

It was an ephiphany. What you need to know is that it wasn't your fault. It NEVER was your fault. I get angry reading it's "lack of social skills". That's bullshit- I was very outgoing. I was not shy at all. I was tall and I was fat, and I didn't have fashionable clothing.

Blaming a victim for bullying is like blaming the rape victim for the rape. Sorry.

Bullying is very similar in dynamics to domestic abuse. The books essentially told me you can't ignore it. Ignoring it empowers the aggressor. No, I simply took what the book said and said to the bully. I said, "What's the matter honey? Your dad's a drunk and hit your mom? Parents getting divorce? They favor a sibling? Do they call you stupid, fat and ugly too? " Oh. I was never bothered after that day. It was an ugly thing to do. But I did what I had to, I used a sharp verbal knife. The books gave me knowledge and confidence beyond my years and I pitied the bully, a pathetic thing to shake your head sadly at.

Every kid should know what bullies are and why they exist. Then again, some kids are just born as mean assholes.

Feed your inner light. Be vigilant and be free. =)

[sistermagpie.livejournal.com]

Hell, there are plenty of examples, I think especially from junior high, where kids are bullied for being *too* socially adept. They start being seen as thinking they're better than others because everyone wants to be friends with them. The second somebody comes up with a "legitimate" reasons to be mean to them everyone takes out their jealousy on them. At least I've certainly read about cases like this. Basically a girl getting tormented for the crime of being nice. When the "cool" girls kicked her out of their clique she just started hanging out with other people as if she didn't care about popularity and that made them even worse.

[droxy.livejournal.com]

Yes, that nice girl robbed the bully of their power and they retaliated. Yet My books gave me the one thing no one could take away. I understood the power dynamics. I had a shield of knowledge. It was not ignoring them...it was knowing they were utterly pathetic. It's not me. It is them, and they are pathetic. I felt -sorry- for them.

Am I immune to bullying? No. I am not. But I do understand it on a level most people do not. I am no longer an easy target. I can prioritize.

Hugs

[valis2.livejournal.com]

At first I did try to insult and shout back. It actually worked, to an extent. It was when I gave up and started ignoring them that it became completely insufferable. I really wish I'd understood the mechanics behind it better; I really couldn't understand why the other kids were doing this to me.

Thanks for sharing this.