Okay, umm. I’ve been thinking a lot today, and I figured since I haven’t posted anything for a while I would now.
Earlier today, as I was making dinner, my mom and brother were arguing. So, as I was getting sick of it I came out and slapped my brother on the back(They were fighting because my brother wouldn’t respond and he was quiet so my mom wanted him to yell and he refused). He started to cry, and I didn’t even hit him that hard. I didn’t feel bad about making him cry, I know that sounds really bad but it’s true.
I think I know why I am the way I am, and I’d like to share it with you guys and get all this stuff I’ve kept pent up for a really long time off my chest. I don’t care if you guys judge me or not. I was made the way I am now, and no one can change it.
It all really started when I was about three(Yes, I know a lot of stupid stories start this way but please bear with me here) I don’t remember it at all really, but I still have the scar on my right cheek from where they hit me. We(Me, my mom, my dad, my brother, and my sister) lived in Salmonarm. It’s a nice little town with friendly people, nice neighbours, ect. A guy who was about sixteen or so, he’d bully me. It wasn’t just me though. Apparently he’d pull down my and other kid’s pants and put grass in them(Imagine of some were allergic). And then one day me, my sister, and a couple others were playing down near where we lived. The guy, somehow, got a willow tree twig, branch, thingy that has all the leaves on it and droops down. He hit me with it. It was deep enough for me to still have the scar. He did it to another kid too. So we ran home. My mom tried to clean my face, and I guess my dad got home early. He saw that the cut was still oozing. And he went back outside and over heard the guy telling my sister, as he had a hockey stick in hand, if she told our dad he’d kill her. My dad grabbed him off his bike by his collar and held him so his feet couldn’t touch the ground. He told him if he ever touched one of his kids again he’d kill him. He dropped him and the kid ran home. He got his parents to call the police, and an officer showed up at our door. They didn’t give my dad enough time to show them my face. My mom said if they did it’d of been a completely different story. So my dad was put in court, he didn’t get any charges because he told it like it was. Growing up I guess I really hated myself because in the years it was still fresh and when it got really cold it would turn purple. But I have one question here, what the hell kind of sixteen-year-old picks on three, four, five, six or so year-old’s? And how many sixteen-year-old’s threaten a nine-year-old? I thought they were supposed to be becoming men about that age.
I think I was about five or six when this next part happened. I think we were living in Calgary, I’m not sure. But I know we lived right next to a play ground, and near a family friend of ours(her son was the closest thing I ever had to an older brother figure). There were two bouts about my age, I never really knew. And they hated me. I remember really only one of them by name. He was Jesse, he was ginger with freckles, he didn’t have any problem with me. How do I know? You may be asking. One day I walked the short distance(30 or so seconds) to the park and found him sitting there with one of those toy guns(You know those ones with the red cap like things that let out bang). I was apprehensive, but he didn’t do anything to do or indicate that he had anything against me. So I figured it was the other kid(I wish I could remember his name!). He was taller then Jesse, I think he was blond, he hated me. I remember one day Karen, Katlin, and Chris(Family friends) were over. My sister and Kaitlen were doing I-don’t-know-what-nor-did-I-care. I didn’t know where my brother was. But I remembered me and Chris were out on my front lawn, don’t remember doing what. But then Jesse and what’s-his-face came up, on the other side of the street, and started chucking sticks at us. Chris threw some back at them. I looked up at him wondering if I could ever be as brave as he was.
From ages seven to I believe ten I was bullied horribly by multiple assholes. Brydon Gleag(sp?), Jake Calagaruse(sp?), Ian Suic(sp?), Justin Robertson(sp?), Jadin LaBanc(sp?), Teana(Teanny, whatever the hell that bitch wants to go by) Calagaruse(sp?), and a handful of others who’s names I do not know. They things they did may not seem bad to you, but they still haunt me. Brydon bullied me because, in his opinion, I was too tall(I’m fifteen and somewhere between 5,7″ and 5,10″ and I have a lot of people towering over me now, and are my hight too)! He’d throw pinecones at me as I was walking home from school with my little brother, he’d make me cry. I honesty thought I was a freak. Jaden just plain didn’t like me for some reason, but then again she was like a frienemy to me one day we’d be okay the next she’d want to take my head off. Teana. . . . . . I blocked out what she did, but not a day went by that if she talked to me I would go home crying. I tried to do something about it by asking my older sister and her friends if they could talk to her(She had a lot of guy friends and I figured a little intimidation could work), she made me look like a liar. I don’t ever remember what she did, I had to block it out. Thanks to her I stopped asking and telling when people hurt me. I was about ten when I started showing signs of puberty(No, nothing like a period. But my hormones kicked in). It was bout here that Jake, Ian, and Justin came in. At the time we didn’t know, but I inherited P.C.O.S.(polycystic ovary syndrome). Basically what it is, is in my FEMALE body I have a higher count of MALE hormones then what the norm is. It causes weight gain, and it’s hard to lose weight, and I have thicker , more noticeable, and a hell of a lot more hair everywhere then most girls should. And it makes me feel horrible. Well, these guys picked up on it and started teasing me about it. It got worse when we went into middle school and I started puberty. They would make indications with their pointer fingers as they brought it across their top lips and they’d say things like “Gelet Fushion for men, or women.” and “Gellet the best a man or woman can get.” They’d throw rocks at me, they brought my, already suffering, self esteam down a lot. Then Brydon came back and started picking at that too.
It got worse when others noticed too. Dominic Carter(sp?), Geroge Garsia-Lopez(sp?), Ryan Martel(sp?), Ryan Benzy(sp?), and a hand full of others I don’t know. They pointed it out, they made me feel like I’d never belong anywhere. and for the longest of times, I believed them. I never thought I could be or do anything other then what was expected. I hated myself. It didn’t help that my friends were fighting and using me as a middle man, and that my grandmother died when I was in the sixth grade.
Things have gotten better, but it wasn’t until a few years or so ago that I realized something. I was depressed. From about age eight to ten, I became depressed of everything that had happened. And from eight until I was about eleven or so, I realized I was suicidal. I never cut, I never made any indication that I was in anyway, shape, or form depressed, let alone suicidal.
I think I’m still slightly depressed, but not as much as I used to be. I also came to the realization that I can never hate anyone that made fun of me, or put me in a position that made me wish for my life to end. I did, however, become philophobic. It’s the fear of falling in love. I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with a man and he’s going to hurt me and make me want to die again. But from all that I became bi as well. My mom says it’s just a phase, and I hate it. I’m the way I am for a reason. and it’s thanks to those assholes.
Now in my opinion all men are assholes. I’m sorry if you are literally the nicest guy in the world. I know not all guys are the same, but when you grow up see, hearing, and watching boys pick on you for things you can’t control and don’t understand. wouldn’t that make you hate them too?
When they started bugging me about my hair, I refused any treatment for it my mom offered. I still had this hope that I was pretty and I didn’t want to change it. From a young age I always thought I was pretty. But after everything they said, I can never look at myself like that again. And I began to see all those things at women recognize about themselves that they don’t like. I hated myself. I hated who I was. I hated everyone and I wanted them to die.
I wanted to be left alone for hours on end just to sit by myself and not have to think about anyone or anything. I wanted nothing. I wanted it all to end and for me to feel nothing. I became so numb that physical pain wasn’t as sharp anymore.
I still wanna kill myself. I still wanna die. I still want to cry my eyes out about what happened all those years ago. But I can’t.
People like Amanda Todd, and others who had killed themselves from bullying, they didn’t realize what I did.
If you kill yourself because of things they do to you, they win. They had the power over you, and they have the power to do it again. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I’d rather of killed them then died.
And eventually I got to high school. They say it’s supposed to be four years of hell. I’ve been in it one year, and it’s been the kindest to me out of everything. Maybe it’s because I’ve already gone through seven years of hell.
I came to that school district in the second grade, I’m heading into tenth now. And in my second year of high school I’ll be going to a different one. We moved one town over, and me and my bother stayed in that system until this year when he wanted to transfer. I decided to transfer too. I was done with the shit.
All those familiar faces I’ve grown to know and recognize over the years, I’m tired of. I don’t want to look at ever direction and see the people who were there that watched as I had pain inflicted on me. Who at times would stand there and not do anything. It’s not those who hurt me that I hate, it’s the people who saw, they heard, they were within reach, and they did nothing. They piss me off the most.
I’m going to be going to a different high school now. Start things fresh. I’m hoping this is what I need to forget about it all.
A lot of people may think I’m strong or something, and in truth, I’m not. I’m probably more venerable then a baby that’s unguarded.
I keep such high, thick walls up. I keep people out, I push them away. I’m still hurting from things so many years ago. I still wanna kill myself. I don’t want people to care about me, but my family will always. I think I might just be waiting for them to cast me aside and forget about me. That’s what I need. But I don’t want them too. I have this thing with abandonment, I don’t wanna think about it. But I don’t want them to care. But if they don’t care who will?
I feel better. Thank you to whoever finished this. I don’t care what you think about it. I just needed to vent. . . . . .
You know what would be funny? If all the people who ever bullied me read this, and their jaws dropped to the floor. lol.
I think it’d be funny.
Assholes! Bitches! People who need t push others down to feel better about yourselves!
I don’t hate you. I can’t. I want to. But I can’t.
I have a good home. I have friends, to some degree. I know what love is. And I am accepted the way I am. Yes, I’m thought of as strange, yes, I agree. But I am who I am. I can’t apologise for that.
and as cheesy as it may sound, to everyone who wants their life to end, who’s sick of the shit their going through, who cries themselves to sleep at night. You aren’t alone. I love you. You are you. And you are
perfect , imperfect just the way you are. You’re better then those who hurt others. You’re there for those you love when they need you. And I know life is hard, and I can’t exactly speak only being 15, but you will find your path. You will walk it. And then one day when you’re happily married, and have the job of your dreams in a beach side house, with kids(if you want them), and a dog(sorry if your allergic or something), and as your reading the morning paper on your day off watching you beautiful/handsome spouse you’ll look down and see a familiar face of the person who wanted you to kill yourself and they over dosed on drugs.
You are you, and you better be damn happy about it. You’ll get through. Somehow. But know this, you are, have been, and always will be better then they are. And you are loved.