I am thirteen years old and leaving school. As I go down the staircase, I realize I am the only one on the landing. It’s quiet… even the light, usually the antiseptic surgery-operating light, seems dimmed. My backpack is heavy, and it’s uncomfortable – I look down, shift it on my back. I’m almost at the door that leads to outside and freedom.
There’s a sound behind me. I look up, twist awkwardly – do I really need all these books? An umbrella comes down across my backpack, hitting it over and over. A boy in my biology class was hitting me. Two of his friends are there, watching, laughing – and right behind them is my ex-best-friend. She’s laughing, too.
He’s hitting my backpack, not me – I don’t know what to do. Can I hit back? Will I get in trouble? The backpack is heavy, unwieldy, I can’t shrug it off and run. I feel like ice, cold, brittle, one more hit will shatter me.
I didn’t cry in front of him. I didn’t cry until I got home, in my room, and threw the backpack under the bed.
Four years later, and I had a full scholarship to a ‘Public Ivy’… guess there was a point to those books after all.
I was bullied by a girl in middle school who was violent and taunted relentlessly. It turns out that she was facing lot of problems at home and was soon put in a separate program. We all breathed easier once she was gone, but wondered about her. Our senior year of high school, she came back and turned out to be a lovely person! Neither of us appreciated how the other felt at the time.
In high school my ‘friends’ made fun of me for being a ‘perfectionist’, turning me into more of one trying to make up for what they saw as my short comings. Since finishing high school years ago, I have figured out who I am, what I want to do and who I want to be. Finally, I am happy!
I was an intense kid. In 4th grade, I saw some girls “bullying
” another. I called them out in a not-very-polite way, and told them to stop. I got in trouble but it was worth it.