I was watching Anderson Cooper tonight on CNN, and the topic was about bullies in our schools and the children who fall victim to the terrible abuse on a daily basis. It got my gears turning, and my anger flowing. It also brought back some memories of my days in junior and senior high school. I'd like to share a few thoughts about this matter, as I do believe it is a serious matter.

     I remember being in elementary school, and getting along with everyone! We were a group of maybe thirty or so kids in one class, with one teacher covering all the basic curriculum, and then each day of the week was designated as an elective class where we would all go together as one class to another location for art, music, phys ed/ health, and for a lucky few, BAND class! I think that because we were all together for the entire year without interaction with other classes or other students we were able to get along better, and take the time to understand and appreciate each others company and realize that yes, we were all different, but as a group we all brought something different and unique to the table. For the most part elementary school was great, except for 6th grade. The last year before you head off to junior high. People began to give up on there willingness to accept others because they figured "fuck it, I'm gonna be at another school next year anyway so why should I care?" Cliques began to form, racial barriers started going up, and the weak kids fell behind in a cloud of dust.

     Junior high! Some of my friends ended up getting assigned to the same school as me. Others did not, and ended up attending school elsewhere. How different is this! Home Room, my own locker, changing classes at the end of the period, foreign languages, electives, etc. I didn't get to see my old friends nearly as much as I thought I would be able to, and that was detrimental to any social interaction I thought I might have. I was forced to try and make new friends, and the demeanor that I was used to suddenly didn't seem to fair to well with the new kids I met. I started pushing myself away, and quickly became one the many exiled students doomed to spend what seemed like an eternity in the land of the post elementary lepers. Life spiraled out of control and I slowly sank into a deep depression. The cool kid I used to be was long gone, and the groveling outcast emerged like Gollum from the Misty Mountain. I wasn't a nerd. My grades were fair at best in the beginning, and quickly dive-bombed after I began to give up hope for social equality. My thoughts grew dark and diluted, and my spoken words became few and far between for fear of further scorn. I secretly begged for acceptance, but went about my daily routine in utter silence. I was my own person. Different, and refusing to change my thoughts and appearance in order to fit in.

     Eventually, the grief grew to large and my parents decided that counseling and a possible change of schools was in order. "Take this prozac, and you'll be happy" was the gist of what I was told, and "you're going to a Christian private school so everyone can get along with everyone" was the theme. How fucking wrong can you be?! Not only did the pills not help, but the fucking Christian school was even more of a downer! I was already frowned upon. The mysterious public school transfer who thinks we're going to help him cope. Love the sinner hate the sin... but crucify me anyway. I'm not even going to dive into all the reasons as to why Christian school was not a good fit for me, but let it suffice to say that after two years of Hell (no pun intended) I went back to public school, but this time it was high school.

     Let the physical torture commence! The ones who remembered me from junior high mentioned me to their new friends, and their friends, and theirs. The scrutiny now came from larger crowds. I was never really beat up, or attacked to the point of hospitalization, but being pushed into lockers, and into brick walls unexpectedly with sudden force can take it's toll on your upper body. I'm 29 years old now and I have arthritis in my neck. I can honestly say that even as brutal as the physical bullying could be, I would rather have that than be left with the emotional scars of the verbal bullying. The downright cruel things that were said to me were often times so unbearable that I would leave campus at the risk of being suspended just to get away from it. I didn't care anymore, and decided that school was a waste of time for me. I spent more time running from my problems than trying to confront them. At least that what I thought i should believe, when in reality, I think that if I had tried to confront them, it would have been worse than it was. Stand up to one bully, and get the wrath of the entire army of them. Tell a teacher or the principal, and be called a nark which in turn means even more bullying! As far as I could see, I was royally fucked unless I did something so unheard of that even the bullies jaws would drop...

     I went through every year book that my parents were gullible enough to get sucked into paying for. From seventh grade to 10th, I mulled through pictures identifying every single person who had given me grief. I wrote their names down, and an explanation as to why they were on the list. They would pay for what they did. This was my hit list. I actually contemplated taking out my frustrations on these low life pieces of shit! I hadn't written it down, but the thoughts of what I would do swirled through my brain constantly. It seemed like the perfect end to my sorrow by getting rid of them. Well, I guess my parents did what other parents did not care to do, and that is take notice in my actions and increasingly bizarre reclusive behavior. I was confronted with love and understanding. They told me that nothing in the world can ever be upsetting enough to mastermind a mass murder. However they did pull me out of school all together citing that a conflict of interest hindered my ability to learn in a sound environment. A GED was going to have to be my high school equivalency. I'm not ashamed of it. Instead of wallowing in my own sorrow, I decided that I was going to further educate myself on my own terms, and on my own time. I read books, articles, essays, and tried to juggle my personal learning time with a full time job. Gone were the days of coming home with bruises and scabs. Life was good finally. I had friends who appreciated my company, and my opinions. I wasn't just a loser who dropped out of high school. I was an individual in world of many.

     I still think about the rough patch of my life from time to time, and sometimes still try to convince myself that I should have found a way to go through with my plans. But then I smile and think to myself that by doing that, I would have been no better than the bullies who tormented me. I am a good person in spite of them. Great job, great family, a beautiful daughter, and people who love me for me. I often think about the Columbine incident, and how those kids reacted to being singled out. I don't condone anything that happened there or any other tragic school shooting that stemmed from bullying, but I totally understand why they did it. They were tired of being pushed around, and they pushed back. In the wrong way, but they pushed back nonetheless. The only difference I see between them and myself is that I had people who cared enough to listen to what I had to say about my feelings rather than overlook it as "it's just part of growing up". If not for those people, who knows what would have become of me. Thank God for that!