To the bully I still hear in my head.
Fifth grade.
That’s when it started. For some reason, the fact that I breathed was reason enough for you to torment me. What did I do?
I’d known you for two years by then but that year, you made it your mission to make sure I didn’t have any friends. In case you thought otherwise, I know I was fat. I was also poor, like most of the kids in our school. Do you remember the day Dani asked to use my eraser? Secretly, I was so excited she asked me. I handed it over and she started to use it. You looked at her and said “Do you really want to use that? She touched it.”
My heart sank. A knot formed in my throat as I watched her look between you and the pencil she held in her hand. I saw the look of pity on her face when she placed it back on my desk, holding it with only two fingers. You probably don’t remember it but I will never forget it. It changed me. That was the day I realized just how much of an outcast I was. That’s the day I realized that no one in our school would be friends with me. Not really, anyway.
Most of my clothes came from the thrift store. Do you know how embarrassing that is? I stopped wearing shorts because my thighs were fat. Did you ever have to buy groceries with food stamps? You know, the ones where you had to rip the paper dollars out of a booklet? I was raised by a single mom of 2 who worked her ass off to keep a roof over our head and food on the table. She did the best she could and because of people like you, I was embarrassed.
Did you know that I slept on the floor with no blanket or pillow because I felt like I didn’t deserve them? I didn’t play with toys either, I obviously didn’t deserve those either. Did you know I started seeing a therapist that year?
Did you know, I lived through sexual trauma before moving here? That I was in my third school district in as many years? Did you know that every year since moving here, the friend I would make moved away over the summer and I had to start over every fall? How about my dad telling me things like “you can’t have another cookie because your too fat.” Did you know about that?
Of course you didn’t. You were too busy being insecure about being the shortest kid in our class so you picked on me to make yourself feel bigger. You had friends that you played with so you didn’t care that I was alone. That during recess, I was either by myself or in line for teether ball when I was feeling brave. Did you know that I am dyslexic and had a really hard time reading and writing? I wasn’t stupid, but you made sure I felt that way.
My mom had to pick me up at school and drop me off so I didn’t have to ride the bus. Do you know why? Because the kids on the bus didn’t want to sit next to me. When the bus ran out of room and someone was forced to sit next to me, they would groan with an ‘ooohhhh maaaan,’ before sitting as far away from me as possible. God forbid a third person had to sit on the same bench.
I was ten years old and had already moved 4 times, changed schools 3 times, been the victim of sexual abuse for a year by two attackers, had panic attacks when I was away from my mom, lost every friend I ever had, slept on the floor when I had a perfectly fine bed, told myself I shouldn’t eat since I was fat and no one loved me because of it, and hated myself for getting hungry and eating.
Can you imagine that kind of self loathing? Especially for a child. I. Was. A. Child. All I wanted was to be loved, accepted. I just wanted one friend. Was that really so much to ask? You bullied me so much that even the new kids to the school wouldn’t come near me.
You know the phrase about not letting someone else’s words have power over you because that lets them control you? I’ve heard that a lot since becoming an adult, but the little girl I used to be can’t get past how it felt when you asked Dani if she wanted to touch something I had touched.
Did you know I was afraid to have kids, particularly a little girl, because I was terrified she would be fat and someone would make her feel like I did that day. Now, I have three little girls and I’m still terrified someone will make one of them feel that way. Because of the way I was treated, I make sure my girls play with the outcasts, the new kids, the ones with no friends. My girls are friends with everyone and I will be damned if they ever make fun of anyone for anything.
Part of me still hates you for everything you put me through, part of me wants to thank you for forcing me to be stronger and instilling better values in my kids.
Signed,
The Brick
