BULLIED

Story 86

When I was five years old, I moved from Puerto Rico. I spoke no English and lived in a neighborhood of white kids. I tried to make friends, my bad accent seemed to confuse all of them. I was nice, kind, and happy. I wanted a friend more than anything in the world, really.

Then this kid that lived in my neighborhood started to hurt me. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I remember he talked about how much he hated me. I never understood why he and other kids could hate someone they didn't know, or understand. But there I was, facing this boy.

Not long after, the ENTIRE neighborhood joined in on the fun. Girls spread rumors about me. Another boy started to beat me up. I reported it to my school. Not much disciplinary action was taken. My mother hated the fact someone would lay a hand on me. Was upset I didn't stand up for myself. I was scared. I was small, skinny, and didn't know how to fight.

So, for years, this continued. I did stand up to the physical bully. The first one. But then, he decided to extend it to my younger siblings. That was when I fought back. My little sister cried and bled from her mouth. Blood soaking her once white shirt. He hurt my younger cousin.

I decided enough was enough. We had an altercation when I was 7. I swung one last time and he flew back in the direction of the moving bus. Almost being hit by it.

I decided a year later, that being nice was not going to get me respected and treated equally. I misbehaved. Stole. Vandalized. Shoplifted. Destroyed. I was a massive force of anger and hate. Kids were afraid of me. I felt powerful because it was I who was damaging those who hurt me. Those who lied about me. Those who punched and kicked me. Those who spat on me because I was much more worthless than the ground I walked on. I was threatened with juvie on MULTIPLE occasions. Never served a day for what I have done.

My grandmother cried, realizing that I will be in prison for what I have done. If I continued. I wanted to hurt those kids who made me feel so low. Little did I know, I was no different from them in acting like the way I did. I quit misbehaving.

I made friends with one of those kids. She was my best friend. As close as I was to her, I still kept my darker feelings inside. I told her once and she had me seek help. I stopped talking to her about worse feelings coming up.

The bullying escalated when I was twelve. While things at home were falling and shattering around me, kids hurt me. I was pushed, shoved, hit, and had WORSE rumors spread about me. A kid was walking around school saying I was had sex with the kid. Which WASN'T true. This person talked about what "we" supposedly did in bed. I was made fun of in the locker room as well in gym. My depression and other mental disorders caused me to have to take heavy medication. I gained weight.

Now, these kids made fun of my body. The rumors were no help either. I didn't know where to go. If I reported, I would be a snitch. If I stayed quiet, I would still be hurt. It was all a dead end to me.

I cut myself. Burned myself with cigarettes. I thought by cutting, I could express the shame I felt. I felt I let everyone down.

After other events in my life, I decided to end it all and hang myself.