My Year of Hell
“One’s dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.”
― Michael J. Fox
No, that is not hyperbole. If anything, it’s being kind.
We moved between 6th and 7th grade, which prompted a school change. The new school was larger than where I came from — each grade had two classes, so instead of 25-ish kids we had 50-ish kids. Still a catholic school, though.
This would be one of those times where you don’t show weakness because the mob sees weakness and they will pounce. Well, I had a weakness, a big one: anxiety. I was terrified. I got dropped off across the street from the school and had no idea how to get in the building or where my classroom was and of course, I was late. Weakness.
At the time, I had a terrible overbite and some of the worst hair cowlicks on the face of the planet. I was shy, I was scared, and I was an easy target. And I had 49 other 12-year-olds with nothing better to do than bully the new girl.
I had things from straight teasing and being called names to being accused of calling boys I didn’t even know and asking them to have sex. They would take my notebooks or go through my purse and backpacks. I had no allies, no friends. I felt alone, scared and the worst part, I wondered what I did wrong to cause them all to hate me so much.
I remember the names they called me. They would get right in my face and taunt me with them. I remember every lie they said about me. It’s like they are all burned into my brain. Some nights I just start reliving it and they all come back over and over, and I can’t shut them out of my head.
I know the first question you may be asking is, “Why didn’t you do anything or go to someone about this?” Understand, this all happened in 1983–84; bullying wasn’t the taboo issue it is today. Also, it was a catholic school, so sex was shamed. I never even told my parents about what those harassing accusations because you didn’t talk about those things, even if they were lies. Today, if that happened to my daughter, I’d have those kids up on harassment charges in a hot minute, but back then, harassment wasn’t in our vocabulary.
What is amazing to me though is that outside of a handful of girls who attended the same high school, I couldn’t give you five names of the kids who tormented me. I remember everything they did and said, but I don’t remember them. I find that strange. Perhaps it’s a product of being bullied by a mob versus an individual(s). Sometimes I question that time because I couldn’t name the people, like it lessens what happened to me.
I want to write more about bullying and what it does to you. For right now, I can tell you that this has been one of those traumas that 30 years later still haunts me.
