The beginning #BraveTogether

Of the end

On December 31st 2014, I remember scanning the crowd from the backstage for my mum and dad. I recall my 12 year old self pumped with adrenaline. Little had I known, that night was going to change my life, and for the worst. I had vaguely noticed how tight the trousers were around my thighs, but once "Wavin' flag" started playing it was too late. The purple shimmering pants ripped, a distinct ssssrrrph sound alongside "and we wondering, when we'll be free." The instant solution to the arisen problem in my childhood brain was of course, immediately running off stage. Though in my defense, the rip was awfully big and put almost a quarter of my bright red boxers on display for the world to see. This is probably where it all began. The coincidences baffle and anger me, equally. What was the chance of me wearing brightly colored shorts exactly today, what was the chance of my pants tearing that night, what was the chance of me running into Jason on the backstage stairs right then. 

What ensued after Jason pointed at my torn trousers and laughed until he was blue in the face, was years of being bullied and the complete downward spiral of my mental health. From 2015 through to 2018 I was ambushed countless times in the school hallway, got painful wedgies almost every time I came across Jason or his friends, was named 'Loser Underpants' and found my locker stuffed with red boxers on multiple mornings. 

Every night for those 1095 days, I used to wonder about how something I had absolutely no control over, produced this big a snowball effect. One little incident and everything went downhill so fast, a courtesy of Jason. Jason, the heartless bully.

I went from crying in the school bathroom during breaks to only staying in the school bathroom, obviously skipping all of my classes. I was on the verge of passing high-school with a GPA below 2. My stomach refused to hold any food or generate appetite. Inevitably at this point, I considered suicide. I tried thrice, but failed everytime. This infuriated me. Was I to simply suffer, mercilessly?

In 2018, my parents divorced. I moved to California with my mother. There I joined a new school, sought help and started my life anew. It seemed I was finally moving on. That was until the second month of ninth grade when suddenly, Jason admitted to my new school. He kept his distance, though. Soon, I found out why.

The first weekend after my bully showing up, I was anxious to visit my therapy group. There too, to my utter surprise was Jason. It was clearly his first day by the looks of it. He stood up and introduced himself, "I am Jason Davis, and I have been critically abused by my foster parents for about three years now." 

The red boxers were not the beginning of the catastrophe, Jason's big black eye from the New Year's Eve was.