My Story

Reads: 377  | Likes: 5  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 4

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

I've debated posting this for a long time. Too long, actually. But by posting my experience with bullying, I'm hoping it can help anyone who is currently being bullied, because it is something that
really needs to be stopped.

Submitted: November 21, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 21, 2017



My Story


My story starts in seventh grade. I was in a new school, but with the same people I had been with since kindergarten or slightly later, since our school only went up to grade six. I think I'd like to say that was the point where everyone changed; we were amongst high schoolers, so the pressure was on us to be a bit “cooler,” and everyone was finally hitting puberty. We all know you go through an awkward stage at that point, and for me, I think it was pretty bad.

The people in my classes definitely changed; they became more judgemental, and even experimented with drugs and alcohol, since it was the cool thing to do. And because I wasn't like them – I was an awkward kid who did heavy makeup and wore strange clothes – it attracted the attention of people who weren't my friends, people who were just looking for someone to pick on to make themselves look better. I became one of their targets.


The kids in my class, especially one guy who I will not name (we'll call him A, since his name started with A), just tore straight through me. I had never been bullied before, so I didn't know how to react to how he was treating me other than to feel like a waste of space. It started with him taking my stuff off my desk, which I just thought was annoying at first. He'd shove my pencil case down his pants and then give it back eventually, so it seemed like a stupid joke, until he started making comments. Really mean comments. And he wasn't the only one.


I have some pretty crooked teeth, and still to this day haven't gotten braces, so people in my class thought I was ugly. My hair was ugly, I was really scrawny, and my teeth were not as straight as I wanted them to be. I remember one guy saying, “Hey Brianna, what happened to your teeth?” I ignored him but I felt so ugly, and more than anything, I wanted to get braces so I wouldn't have to be ugly anymore. As the year went on, I just got more and more insecure about everything, because they picked apart everything. There was another guy that I had had a crush on once a few years back (we'll refer to him as J), and his friend (we'll call him S) knew about it, so they would both tease me and ask who I liked, and since my desk was beside J's, S would literally tip me out of my desk so he could sit with him. I hated the physical part, but if I thought that was bad, it wasn't as bad as A's bullying.


I remember that I used to hang out with a lot of guys, the ones who were considered “nerds” because they were smart and they liked to play video games and such. Towards the end of grade seven, my friends set me up with one of those guys (named C), and we dated. But he was bullied too, so suddenly my entire class was on me about dating him, and they kept saying some things about how that was gross. A had a lot of fun bullying me about that one; I overheard him say to C once, “Ew, you're dating her? What do you see in her?” It stung pretty badly, and even though I was happy with C, I just kind of started to spiral downhill. And for weeks, A would always say, “Just fuck already!” That hurt, too.


Since A and a few others had made me feel insecure about everything, I decided I needed to be perfect. I needed to be perfect so I wouldn't have to be bullied anymore. I wanted to start with my weight, even though I was already underweight (I was ninety-five pounds, and probably about 5'6). So what did I do?


I cut back on my food. I would not let myself get over one hundred pounds, because I thought that would make me fat. Even though the bullies had never said anything about my weight, I was afraid that was going to be next. I wouldn't say I was anorexic, because it didn't go on for long and I still ate, just not as much. Sometimes I would go to bed feeling the hunger eating away at my insides, but I knew that I wasn't going to lose weight if I ate something, so I just ignored it. It was hard, but somehow I did it. I got as low as eighty-nine pounds.


I suddenly felt worthless. So worthless that I started to question my existence. Why was I here, anyway? What would take away the pain? Starving myself didn't work. Would cutting work?


I thought so. I put a razor blade to the skin on my wrist, but I chickened out and I couldn't do it. So sometimes, when I got angry, I would take something sharp (the pointy part inside a plastic headband), and I would just scratch myself with it. I think I only did this like once or twice, but I figured I was just getting my anger out.


So far, it doesn't sound bad, but it gets worse. I remember one particular day in the cafeteria, people were mocking me about dating C, and even my own cousin joined in. They kept asking if we had kissed, and when I told them he'd kissed me on the cheek, they just laughed and mocked us even more. My cousin said something like, “If he hurts you, I'll have to beat him until his teeth are straight,” and that got everyone laughing. I felt so victimized, and before class, a friend of mine gave me a Freezie from the cafeteria, and I remember while I was hearing these comments about me, it turned sour in my mouth and I suddenly couldn't eat it anymore. C's best friend's older sister stopped him in the hallway and said, “Are you still dating that ugly bitch?” while I was within earshot, and as soon as I heard that, I knew I couldn't stay at school for the rest of the day. I texted my mom and made her come and get me, because the comments were suddenly too hard to handle.


My sister was in this girl's class, and she told me that once, this girl had approached her and said, “You're so pretty, but what happened to your sister?” This girl was almost equally as bad as A; she'd thrown a pencil at me in the hallway once, and she'd commented about my clothes, saying I was going to get dresscoded (I was wearing a flowy shirt and that hung off my shoulder and ripped jeans) even though she wore way worse (usually short crop tops and such). This made me start to feel like I wasn't allowed to be myself anymore; I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't to be accepted or something. And she is still exactly the same; she cyberbullies people majorly, but gets away with it, and I hate to see that.


But anyway, we're getting off topic. The guy, A, wasn't as bad in grade seven as he was in grade eight, so when I entered grade eight, it was suddenly worse than the previous year. I broke up with C the second day of school, and from that point on, I think the bullying just got worse. A would walk by and say stuff like, “Ew, I touched her hair!” and run like he'd just seen a spider or something. I fell in love with coloured jeans in eighth grade, and I wanted to like my style, but A would stop me in the hallways and tell me to change. No joke. I remember having a bright yellow pair of jeans, and the first day I wore them, I walked into school and his eyes immediately wandered down to my pants. He shrieked, “What the hell are you wearing?” And every time I wore them, he would say something along the lines of, “Change your pants, they're fucking ugly.” Once I responded with, “Pull yours up first,” but he never said anything, and just sagged his pants to his knees like a fucking idiot every day. I wanted to not care about his comments, but each one cut through me like a knife. Every day, I would come home and tell my parents about how much he bullied me, and finally my dad had enough and said he was going to call the school. I thought he would forget like he always did, but he didn't, unfortunately.


This was because the bullying had gotten physical with A. I was sitting in my chair in class once and he literally yanked the chair out from underneath me so that I fell to the floor, and while he laughed, I wanted to cry. This was getting way too serious, but if I told a teacher, I knew they wouldn't do anything about it, because I'd told them about the desk-tipping incident with S back in seventh grade but nothing had been done about it (which was fucking pathetic: my teacher had had a talk with me about how rough my male friends were with me outside at recess because she'd watched us out the window, but when I expressed real concerns about another student, I just got an, “I'll have a talk with him,” which I'm 99% sure never happened).


So anyway, in the middle of the day, they called A down to the office, and my heart dropped; I knew exactly what it was for. I could have sworn my heart stopped, and suddenly I hated my dad for calling the school, and I felt sick and I wanted to leave. So of course, when A got back, he told all of his popular friends, and when he started making mean comments to me once again, he said, “Oh wait, she's gonna tell the principal on me,” and walked away. I wanted to scream.


There are so many things about this guy that literally make me cringe and want to throw a brick at his face when I remember them. I was friends with an autistic girl, and all of my friends hated her, so when she sat with us at lunch, they'd all move. But I remember A sneering, “Is she your best friend now?” to which I replied “Fuck off,” or something like that. That same year, from the same table, someone – I have no idea who it was – threw an orange at me, and it hit me right in the back of the head, startling me. And when I turned around, everyone just stared at me like they had no idea why I was even looking at them. Ugh.


Also, later on in the year, I began to enjoy drawing. I can only draw really good if I'm looking at another copy of it, so I found a really good drawing I had done of Spongebob in seventh grade in my binder. It looked exactly like him, and I was really proud of it, because I wasn't even an artist. But regardless, I made an art section of my binder, and put the drawing in there


Aaaaaand of course, A comes back to ruin it all. One day when I was talking to my friend at her desk, A went through my binder, which I had left on my desk (I guess he'd run out of paper or something and was going to steal from me). Of course, of all things to stumble across in my binder, he stumbled across the Spongebob drawing, and I could feel my blood turn cold as I watched him. He called over two of his friends and began pointing at me and laughing, and suddenly I was ashamed of that drawing, even though it was so good. I thought it made me look childish and obsessed with a kid's cartoon. I suddenly really didn't want it anymore.


I couldn't take being in that school anymore, so I applied and got accepted into a high school in the city, where I would know no one except for two of my friends who were also going. I was so excited to finally leave. But before I left, though, I wanted to change elementary schools and graduate somewhere else. My parents were looking at a house in a different town about twenty minutes away, and we were supposed to move there, but my dad finally just said no because of the distance to work, and I cried. He didn't seem to understand that I was bullied pretty heavily, and he didn't understand my desperation to leave. That was what I thought.


Now I'm going to tell you something I have literally never told anyone before, except for my brother.


I honestly can't remember what it was about, but one day I was so angry and I felt so worthless and stupid that I went into my room, locked the door, wrapped my baby blanket around my neck, and started to tug hard. It squeezed my neck and slowly cut off my air. I don't know if my intent that day was to actually die, but all I knew was that I wanted out of this stupid world. I did this for a few minutes before I stopped. I did it a second time a couple weeks later for the same reason, but I never told anyone. I felt so useless at that point that I just wanted to die.


It didn't get much better, either. I was sitting in the cafeteria with my friends in eighth grade after having gone on a field trip to watch an AMAZING play about depression and suicide, and let me tell you, I've seen it twice and to this day it is the most amazing play I've ever seen (it is definitely more than amazing, I just can't think of another word). I met the guy who wrote it when I won the award for my short story last November, and I sat with his parents, who told me I should never give up on my dreams (bless them, omg). Anyway, we're getting off topic here. I was sitting with my friends in the cafeteria and this guy in grade seven, someone I had literally never spoken to, just looked at me and was like, “I'm sorry, but my dad has less eyebrows than that.”


The fact that he had the audacity to say that to a random stranger still gets me to this day. Also, toward the end of grade eight, when I had the confidence to wear a skirt and small wedge heels to school, even though I was insecure about my height, he walked by me in the hallway and told me I looked like I was dressed for Halloween. This kid was definitely not better than me like he thought, anyway: my friend (who's a girl) punched him once and he cried, and then this other time someone showed up at his house to fight him as agreed by the both of them, but he ran to his mother to get her to tell the guy to leave. Like, wow, obviously you've got some insecurities there too, bud. Oh, and let me mention how he also had a pink mohawk and always wore a YOLO hoodie. I’m not trying to fight fire with fire, but seriously, c’mon.


There's more. Remember J, from the way beginning of this story, the guy I liked? Toward the end of grade eight, I was going on a field trip to Medieval Times in Toronto, and we had to sell chocolate bars to raise the money to go. He rode my bus home, and lived on my street, so when I was bringing the box home from school, he asked, “Hey, Brianna, can I have one?”


He and his friend were just snickering, but I said, “You have to pay two dollars for them.” So he tried to convince me to give him one for free, because he knew that I had once liked him, but at first I wasn't very willing. His friend paid me and I gave him one, but J just kept on convincing me, saying, “I'll pay you back tomorrow.” So I gave him one, giving up, knowing well that he was not going to pay me back. And he never did.


On his way off the bus, he snickered again and said, “Hey, can I have another one?” and walked off the bus laughing with his friend. I couldn't stop crying when I got home, and I ended up having to pay for it because the teachers would know if you had taken a free one (if you sold the entire box, it was sixty dollars worth, and if there was less than sixty dollars they would know). He never brought it up, just ignored me.


I did, however, throughout grade seven and eight, have some really close friends, although there was one that would always cut me down. In sixth grade she told me I needed braces really badly, and in seventh grade told me I should brush my teeth more often, because my breath smelled bad, even though I brushed them twice a day. And once, in sixth grade, she showed up at my door asking me if I wanted to go to the fair in town with her, to which I said no because the tickets were too expensive (they were forty dollars per person, and there were barely any rides there). And then she had the guts to say, and I literally quote, “Why, are you poor?” Um, no I'm not, thanks. I'm just not gonna waste forty dollars to ride two things; it's common sense, actually.


Grade eight graduation came around, and even though it was supposed to be a good night, for some reason I had never felt so alone. At the dance, people slow danced all around me, and I, of course, had no one. I remember wandering into the girl’s changeroom in tears, wanting a way out, wishing I had someone who cared. And even though I wasn’t too happy about some of my friends following me into that changeroom obliviously, discovering then that I was sad and trying to cheer me up, I realize now just how much I appreciate it. I don’t even think I told them why I was crying, but they were still there for me, regardless. I did get a slow dance that night (not by someone who liked me, I must add; he generously asked every girl to dance, even my autistic friend, which I thought was really awesome). The night went on, I ended up having fun in the end, and before long, summer was upon me and I was bound for a new school.


And, let me tell you, my new school was amazing. It was a fresh start for me, and I was still keeping touch and hanging out with my friends who stayed behind. I met tons of new people, and felt like I could ditch the past and move on.


Until depression swept over me like a tidal wave.


I wasn’t even being bullied anymore, and most people were actually treating me like I was human, but for some reason, the past kept coming back to bite me in the ass. I got into an argument with a friend after she continuously cut me down and called me “very stupid” because of the town I grew up in, so when I got home, I wrote a Facebook status about it calling her out (which wasn’t a smart move on my part), even though she didn’t have Facebook. Somehow, though, she saw it, and her mother called my house and argued with my mom, threatening to have me charged with cyberbullying.


It really wounded me, that title. I never ended up getting charged, and to this day I still feel awful about it, even though I didn’t really “bully” her (this definitely does not excuse my actions, however; I am very well aware that it was wrong of me to do what I did). There was something about being accused of bullying someone after having gone through bullying myself for the last two years that opened up a hole inside me, and it seemed to swallow me whole. Next thing I knew, I was constantly hating myself, constantly wishing I could be anybody else but me. I decided that I was nothing but a stupid hypocrite, even though I hadn’t called her names, and I deserved to feel this way.


The same day she had called me out at school, and her mother had called my house, I rode the bus home, sitting all by myself. She’d convinced my other two friends on the bus not to sit near me, and to sit near her instead, so I just sat closer to the back, staring out the window and wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. My bus stop was after all of my friends’ stops, but instead of being alone after they got off, a boy came and sat with me.


I had spoken to him several times before. He’d flirted with me for a bit, and after dating one of my friends from the bus, he broke up with her, ran back to me, and forgot all about me again. On this particular day, he asked me what was wrong, and I finally decided to open up and tell him, since he already knew how much my friend had pissed me off (we had talked just before I wrote the status). He decided to take advantage of the fact that I was upset, and before I knew it, I was being sexually assaulted.


I, of course, was too scared to say anything. I was too scared to tell him to stop. Even though my extremely uncomfortable body language basically said it all, he chose to ignore it. I moved my bag to block him, but he kept pushing it out of the way to continue. I know that I should have told him to stop, and to this day I still regret not telling him to stop, but he never asked for consent in the first place, which really got to me. I blamed myself for this incident for the longest time, and sometimes, I still do, even though I know I shouldn’t.


It was that day where everything changed for me. The depression started, and it barely stopped. Just when I thought I’d be having fun when out with friends or at school, it would all rush back to me, and suddenly I was insecure and in a bad mood. I would suddenly feel like no one wanted me there for no reason at all, or I would just randomly think about how ugly I was because of what I’d been told in grade seven and eight. And then, to make matters worse, my dad announced that he was sending me back to my old school, despite all my arguing against it.


So obviously, things took a turn for the worse once summer rolled around and I was forced to say goodbye to everyone at my school. I had my first kiss, however, on my last day there, which wasn’t too bad, and I ended up dating that boy over the summer and into the next school year. Life was seemingly butterflies and rainbows because I had a boyfriend, but it didn’t last long.


A girl I knew in my town committed suicide, someone I had only hung out with once but saw her every day heading to school. She was my age, fifteen at the time. For the longest time, I couldn’t stop thinking about her and wondering why she would do such a thing when she had so many friends, so many people who had loved her. I told my boyfriend about her through text late at night when I found out, and he was very comforting about it, which made me appreciate him so much more. Things would potentially get better in my life, I thought.


School came around, and just as expected, I hated it. I was back with the bullies (except for A, since he luckily moved schools). My old crush J’s friend, S, the same one that used to tip me out of desks in grade seven and even once took my phone was there, and his first words to me were, and I kid you not, “So, Brianna, I heard you were too stupid for *insert school name here*.” (My school required that you had decent grades to stay in, which I actually exceeded for the most part). Not only was I completely insulted, but another guy, the one who’d asked me in grade seven what happened to my teeth, looked at me and said, “Ugh, what are you doing back here?” So, yeah, needless to say, I definitely felt unwanted.


Throughout the end of grade nine and the beginning of grade ten, I began writing and posting a bunch of depressing poetry to Booksie (I took them down just a few months ago for fear of them being copied), but somehow it was keeping me sane, putting my feelings into words. My one poem, Behind These Smiling Eyes, I remember getting comments asking if I was okay, to which I would respond that yes, I was okay. But only for the moment. It wouldn’t last too long.


Things didn’t get much better with my boyfriend. He wouldn’t stop asking me if I would be coming back to that school, which put so much pressure on me because my parents kept saying no. And, if that wasn’t enough, he would try and pressure me into sending him nudes, to which I told him no every time, and he would talk about sex almost all the time. Even worse was when another girl my age committed suicide (this time she was someone who went to my school), and when I told him, he just said, “Oh.” I’ll be honest, I didn’t like her – she was a bully to my best friend, and I had witnessed it and told my boyfriend about it months before this happened – but obviously I don’t believe she deserved to feel like ending her life was a solution. So when he said he was sorry for my loss, I explained to him the story I had told him months earlier to see if he remembered me mentioning her, and in response to that, he said, “So, I’m not sorry?” Literally. And then our conversation just kind of ended.


The week after that, after once again asking if I was coming back to the school and I said no, he dumped me. This past year, in fact, I found out from a friend that on a school trip, he was flirting with her while dating me and he said she looked beautiful while she slept when they were on the bus (she was uncomfortable with him sitting beside her, so she pretended to sleep). Another friend also told me he flirted with almost everyone on that trip, so thank God that relationship is over. During the time he dumped me, including the previous month, I had been thinking about suicide as well. Being broken up with certainly didn’t help; in fact, it was quite possibly the worst time to break up with me, when I had never felt so alone in my life. Almost every night I cried myself to sleep, wishing I was dead. And the worst part of it all was that I started to think about suicide more in depth during those nights, like how I would do it, when I would do it, and what I would include in my note. I think it’s safe to say it was probably the lowest point I have ever reached in my life.


I thought I would never amount to anything. Sure, I could write a story, but anybody could do that, I thought. I wasn’t finished Stay Strong or The Other Half of Me, but whatever, nobody would want to publish those anyway, or even really want to read them. I had nothing in my future to look forward to. I couldn’t even picture myself graduating high school; I thought I would be long gone by then.


But, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the best news of my life came; I was going back to my other high school the next semester. In two short months.


Things began to progress for me. I was no longer one mark away from failing math, and I found myself trying harder. I had something to look forward to, which was returning to my other high school and changing my life around, making it better. And I can gladly say that I’ve graduated from that school, I’ve been dating my boyfriend for two years, and I’m still discovering who I am.


Out of all that hell, the friends I was close with are still close to me to this day, all the way to college. And I’d like to think karma has gotten A, which is sweet, sweet revenge for me; he's heavily involved with drugs, looks like he's aged a good ten years, and is still a douchebag. But all I know is that I'm definitely succeeding way more than he is. My writing has placed in not one, not two, not even three or four, but five contests, four of these being published. The hurt and rage I feel from his bullying fuels a pretty good story, I must say. It was the only way I could think to vent about this.


What I really want to say is, it gets better. Even through all the pain, you have to rise above it, prove you’re better than them. It’s never too late to give up. Think about it; how many success stories have you heard of from people who have bullied people incessantly throughout their lives? I have yet to hear any. But think of all the famous singers, actors, artists, and writers who have taken that pain and created something out of it, putting those stupid bullies to shame. Slowly, but surely, I’m finding my way, and am already able to confidently say my success and happiness outweighs the hate of the past. Those bullies, however…well, some of them aren’t doing too great right now. But that’s not my problem.


Author's note: If you've made it this far, you really deserve a reward or something, because this is a pretty long story. I would like to assure you that I don't feel this way anymore, and have been pretty happy for the last few years. By sharing this story, I really hope it can help anyone going through the same situation, and I just want to remind you that it's okay to get help; don't be afraid. Don't suffer alone. Tell someone. I am also available to talk if need be.

As a disclaimer, this story was not written for attention. It was not written to get people to feel bad for me. It was written to make people understand how it feels to be in such a position, and for others to know that they aren't alone. I know it sounds like I hold a lot of grudges, but I'm just trying to tell every detail of my story that I can remember.

Thank you so much for reading it all if you did, it means a lot to me :)

© Copyright 2019 BriannasBooks. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: